


Gay Days Of Our Lives

by regionals



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6484801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regionals/pseuds/regionals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler Joseph's senior year is pretty wild.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gay Days Of Our Lives

**Author's Note:**

> the first time i posted this ao3 fucked up and it wasnt showing up in tags/my works page. the second time my internet died for like two seconds right as i hit post, so MAYBE the third time is a charm.
> 
> THIS IS INTENTIONALLY BAD/OVER DRAMATIC. JUST SAYING.  
> also covering my ass bc lbr im not the best at writing
> 
>  edit 5/24/16: honestly this fic isnt. the best. but it was fun in terms of me improving my skill with writing? idk SORRY idk why im like. saying this oml. jst. u kno  
> edit 6/14/16: this fic still isnt the best but i have plans to rewrite it. the rewritten version, AT EARLIEST, will happen around november? im working on a very long fic rn (its not joshler sorry my dudes brallon has stolen my heart). though it might happen way later though because school is a thing and idk when/if ill have time [shrugs]  
> edit 7/23/17: well this is awkward its been over a year but ill finish the rewrite soon
> 
> [hit me up on tumblr](http://twinkdun.tumblr.com/)

_**Gay Days Of Our Lives** _

**NOTE: Despite being in second person, this is not a reader insert. You are, in fact, Tyler Joseph.**

**START**

 

All you can really say about your life is that it sucks, and that in and of itself sucks, because you don't know anything other than that. Maybe you were happy as a child. That's not too much of a reach, right? You're not sure when it happened, but suddenly you were under a lot of pressure to fit a certain image, and to follow in certain footsteps that had already been laid out for you by your parents. It should've been expected, though. You're the oldest child, so of course you're under the most pressure to act like a role model to your siblings. It makes sense that you're expected to be  _perfect,_ expected to get up bright and early every fucking Sunday, expected to get dressed in your best clothes, and expected to kneel down, worship, and pray to a god that you don't think you ever truly believed in.

You're expected to get perfect grades, obey a bunch of rules that you can't really even remember at this point, graduate with honors or be the valedictorian of your year, or both, go to college, hopefully on a scholarship, get a high paying job, and marry a cute girl, all before the age of thirty, and, finally, once you hit thirty, you're expected to be living in a decent house in the suburbs of Columbus with a white picket fence and approximately two and a half kids. Basically, you're expected to be almost the exact opposite of what you actually are. (You're a messy and _very_ gay atheist, by the way.)

As corny as it sounds, you think your _story_ starts mid-September of 2012. You're not sure the exact date, probably around the thirteenth, but that's when fate starts to intervene. Maybe it started to intervene when you were eleven, when you were in the midst of figuring out your sexuality, or maybe it was when you were fourteen, when you _admitted_ to yourself, and quit living in _denial_ of your sexuality. Maybe it was when you told Brendon, who isn't your best friend, but rather a good friend, that you were gay, but you _think_ it intervened on the thirteenth of September, 2012, which is when you found the _flyer._

Well, not so much as found, but more like you were looking at the clubs & activities table, which had a flyer for every single club and activity imaginable, just looking to see if you could possibly manage to put at least _one_ thing onto your record that would look good for any colleges you might or might not apply to. The flyer was kind of just an advertisement for this… group.

You looked around, and once you were sure no one was paying attention, you grabbed one, then ran like hell to your locker to put your things away, before trying to, hopefully, get to a more private place to read the flyer more closely.

You end up in the bathroom, which isn't a surprise. It's the most private place you're going to get in the school without kicking a teacher out of their room or something along the lines of that. The flyer kind of feels as if it's _burning_ in your hands, but obviously, that doesn't stop you from reading it over about five hundred times.

 

**LGBT+ Teen Support Group**

 

**Meetings held most Fridays at 7PM**

**Location: Columbus Recreational Center**

**Any changes in location or time will be posted here: [website].com**

**Text/Call (xxx) xxx-xxxx if you have any questions.**

 

After that, there's a few hotlines listed, and a couple of other things you couldn't be bothered to look at. You know it's probably forbidden, but you feel _drawn._ It's that damn fate thing again. You're scared, more than anything, you definitely won't deny that, but you're tired of living in a constant state of shame, guilt, and regret. You _want_ to accept yourself, and you _don't_ want to be _afraid_ to be yourself. You think that maybe, just _maybe,_ you'll meet someone. Again, it's that fate thing. You feel like going to this group is something you need to do.

 

You pull Brendon aside at lunch, and apparently you look like shit, or at least scared out of your mind, because he tells you as much, then asks if you'd seen the ghost of your dead grandmother or something.

“No, my grandparents aren't even dead. It has literally nothing to do with that. Just listen to me; I need a favor.”

Brendon gets a look of mock concern on his face, before he looks around, _very_ suspiciously, then whispers, “Tyler, I'm not giving you a hand-job.”

You're mortified. You're just _mortified._ You whack him in the chest with the back of your hand, and give him a stern look. “Quit that, you dick. This is serious.”

He rolls his eyes, but sobers up nonetheless. He adjusts his posture before asking you what you need from him.

“Can you give me a ride somewhere? Then possibly let me spend the night at your house? Like, tomorrow?”

“Depends on where you need a ride to, but you can definitely stay over.”

You shift awkwardly, before pulling the folded up flyer out of the pocket of your jeans, and handing it to the younger boy. (He's like, maybe five or six months younger than you. Maybe.) You watch him read the flyer, give you a raised-eyebrows kind of look, but he doesn't say anything right away, so you cut him off before he can. “Yes or no?” _Please, Brendon, save me the embarrassment._

“Dude, of course. Shit—I'll even go with you. For, you know, moral support. Also, as a warning, Pete might drop by my house tomorrow. I wouldn't put it past him.”

You've met Pete on a few occasions. He seems nice enough, so you're fine with that. Though, you don't think you would've had a choice in the first place. “Thank you so much, dude. Also, pretty sure this goes without saying, but like, if my parents call or whatever, you've got my ass, right?”

He scoffs. “Of course. What, you think I'm going to tell _your parents_ that I'm taking you to a gay club?”

“It's… not a club.”

Brendon blanks for a few seconds, before realizing what he'd said. “ _Support group._ Same difference. Less alcohol, and probably less _thumpa-thumpa.”_

You cackle a bit, and thank him again.

 

By the time you get to Brendon's house the next day, to prepare for what you've titled as _it,_ you're shaking, and trying not to lose your lunch. You're still going, obviously, but that doesn't stop you from losing your fucking mind.

One of the things you think you're afraid of is, well, you're afraid going to _it_ is going to make everything real. Like, obviously everything is real anyways, but you're afraid that it will solidify things, and that there will be no turning back. You're afraid of what's going to come. You don't want to regret anything. You just—you don't want to do anything _wrong,_ even though you actually have a pretty skewed sense of what's right or wrong.

You'd gotten permission from your parents to spend the weekend at Brendon's, on the condition that you got _all_ of your homework done, and that the two of you didn't go partying, or didn't do anything extreme. Brendon blows off Pete, and a few of his other friends, in favor of taking you home to pack clothes, and then to _it._

Before going to _it,_ though, the two of you spend a few hours at his house, since there wasn't really any point at showing up at four in the afternoon when  _it_ didn't start until seven.

Within those few hours, you finish all of your homework, and change your clothes about three times before Brendon gets fed up with you and throws one of his black t-shirts and a pair of his jeans at you, saying, “Put those on, and _leave_ them on, or I will stick my foot in your actual ass.” (The same situation happens about half an hour later, but this time it's with your hair. You'd spent a good while messing with it, before Brendon, again, got fed up, and just did your hair for you, and told you to leave it the hell alone. He does give you his vote of confidence, though, which you appreciate.)

 

At 6:57 PM, you're standing just outside of the rec. center, glued to your spot, trying to will away the acid that's eating at your throat, and _trying_ to listen to Brendon, who's tugging at your bicep, and saying things along the lines of, “Dude, you're fine. I'm here, and you'll live through it alright? We need to get in there, though, especially since we don't know what room it's in, alright?”

Your throat closes up, and you're trying to hold back tears, which you think is really fucking pathetic, saying, “I can't do it. I can't do it, Brendon. It's too much too soon.”

Brendon's voice takes on a stern, motherly tone, as he says, “Tyler, I literally drove you all the fucking way across Columbus to be here, and if you don't get your gay ass in there, I am _never_ driving you anywhere again, and _yes,_ that includes school. Anyways, everyone else in there is going to be gay or one of the other letters, so _let's go.”_

He pulls you along via your bicep, and you're tempted just to go limp and to make him just give up under the dead weight of your lanky body. Maybe taking on the form of a rag doll would be a good defense mechanism. You keep that in mind in case you need to do something like that in the future. _Tyler the Rag Doll. I like the sound of that._

The inside of the building is just a touch too complicated, and it ends up being one of those times that you're grateful for Brendon and his overly confident heart, since he's able to figure out where _it_ is, and leads you there. Getting you into the room is as much of a chore as it was to get you into the building, but once you're inside, well, it's not what you expect.

See, what you _did_ expect was a bunch of those stereotypical gay guys you see on TV, like, the ones with the frilly clothing and the effeminate, slightly lispy voices, berating each other on their fashion choices. Instead, you're met with three other teenagers, and a guy, who is hot and who also looks just a little too old to be a teenager, lounging around the room, on their phones, giving you and Brendon perplexed looks.

You're sure the two of you are a sight to behold. You're losing your fucking mind, and you probably _look_ like you are, and Brendon, who still has an iron grip on your bicep, looks frustrated and alive with _something_ that you're pretty sure isn't anger, but passion. Maybe. Whatever, man, his eyes are fucking sparkling, and you wonder what the hell is going on in his head.

The hot-I'm-not-quite-a-teenager guy pretty much runs over to the two of you and gives either of you firm hand shakes. He introduces himself as Josh, the twenty year old gay guy who normally runs the group, and you have to take a few seconds to collect yourself because, fuck, even his _voice_ is awesome. “So,” he gets a small, devious little smirk on his face, then looks between the two of you as he asks, “Newcomers?”

“Oh, _yeah,_ we're new. This little guy,” Brendon releases his grip on your bicep, but grabs you by the shoulders, then kind of just presents you to Josh, and the rest of the teenagers in the room, before continuing with, “is completely freaked the fuck out, and I'm here mostly for moral support.”

You can feel all eyes on you. It's silent, Josh the Hot Guy is giving you and Brendon this adorable, fucking _oblivious_ little look, your mind is racing, and you _really_ need to get the fuck out of here. One of them might go to your school, or one of them might narc on you; honestly you don't know, but somehow your parents will find out about this, then you'll be in deep shit, and you'll probably get beat with a bible or something, and just, fuck, you fucked up. Good job, asshole.

When you actually do try to leave, Brendon is on you, immediately, saying, “Nope. We're here, _you're_ queer, and we aren't leaving until it's over.”

Josh gives you a sympathetic look, then starts speaking, mostly to everyone. “We haven't had any newbies here in a good while, so like, y'all know the drill: name, sexuality or gender or whatever else, and then a fact about yourself. I'll start. I'm Josh, I'm like, super fucking gay, and I'm a pretty big fan of sushi.”

The second person is this girl with _really_ awesome hair. It's this really intense shade of teal, so you think it's either fake, or she has a lot of money to spend on dye. “I'm Ashley, I'm bisexual, and I probably love Nirvana more than I love myself.” She gives either you or Brendon a sweet smile, then the next person goes.

He's lanky, and probably the tallest person in the room. He fidgets a bit, and you can see a little bit of yourself in him—wait, you should rephrase that: he seems nervous too; “I'm Ryan, I'm asexual, and I'm pretty far up John Lennon's ass.”

Brendon snorts, then asks the question that's on your mind. “What does asexual mean?”

Ryan explains that, basically, he doesn't look at someone then think, “I want to fuck you,” and that there's more to it, but that explanation was the short version of it. He looks a little proud of his explanation, and Brendon just says, “Sounds cool.”

The third person is this short guy with huge hipster glasses that are way too big for his face, and with a hair style that gives you flashbacks to your 2010 emo phase. Yes, you had an emo phase, and yes, you live in constant regret of it to this very day. He's wearing a leather jacket and jeans so tight that you'll honestly be surprised if he doesn't lose his legs from lack of circulation. “I'm Patrick, my sexuality is one gigantic mystery, and I absolutely _love_ Foreigner.”

And that's when you lose Brendon. You knew the second the word 'Foreigner' left Patrick's mouth, that Brendon would be all over him, trying to talk about music. It was cool to see Brendon so passionate about Foreigner, but you really didn't want to be alone.

Brendon is the next in line for introductions. “I'm Brendon,” he glances at you for a split second, and you give him a curious look in response, before he says, “I'm bisexual, and I, too, love Foreigner.”

You stare at him in _shock._ “You're _not_ straight?”

He shrugs.

You're… perplexed. You get lost in your mind a little bit before you realize every one else is staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to introduce yourself. Your face gets hot, and you try, you really do, but when you open your mouth, nothing comes out. No one seems impatient nor annoyed, and you're just a little glad that's the one thing that isn't going wrong at the moment. You do manage it, though. “Tyler. My name. That's my name,”  _Fuck,_ “I'm pretty gay, and like, a fact, uh, _well,_ that was the second time I've said that I'm gay?”

Ashley holds up what you assume is a cup of water, as if to propose a toast; “Congrats, dude. This shit gets easier and things only get better from here.” You manage an awkward grin before averting your gaze to a spot on the floor.

 

The other four go back to talking, and you end up on the far side of the room, head in your hands, and trying to focus on breathing properly. Brendon's next to you, and he isn't talking, but he is keeping you company, which you're appreciative of. Josh saunters over at some point with a bottle of water, and all you can do is stare at the hand holding it out to you. When you look up to his face, you see that he's offering it to you, and you just shake your head.

Brendon, though, takes it upon himself to take the water from Josh, and then he pretty much forces it into your hands. “Drink the fucking water, dude. You're _fine.”_

You gulp, and unscrew the lid with shaky hands, trying your damnedest not to spill any of it. Although you succeed in not spilling the water, and you even take a sip, you're still feeling sick to your stomach, and a little peeved that the water did little to nothing to calm your nerves. You still thank Josh for the water, though.

A few seconds after that, he asks Brendon if he can 'have a few moments alone' with you, and you _immediately_ think, “ _Shit. He's going to kick me out because I'm too scared and a_ wimp _doesn't belong in a place like this. I have to be strong but I'm not and he somehow knows and I really should've just stayed home.”_

Brendon gets up and heads over to talk to Patrick, then Josh takes Brendon's place on the floor next to you. Eye contact is avoided, but it doesn't stop him from asking if you're alright. What pisses you off, though, is that he sounds _genuine._ Okay, sympathy isn't that uncommon, but for some reason it just struck a chord with you.

You reply with a simple shake of your head. Your voice isn't wanting to work, and you're a wee bit scared to try. You look over to Brendon, and feel a pang of jealousy in your heart. You're jealous over how he's able to easily fall into conversation with the other teens, and how he just fits in so easily. Why can't _you_ be like that? Why can't everyone like _you?_ Why are _you_ the weird one? You get lost in those thoughts, until you realize that Josh is waiting for you to say something. “Sorry, man. I'm scared.”

You feel him nudge you a bit. “I get that. Here, I'll let you in on a secret: We're all at least a _little_ gay. Also, Patrick cried the first time he was here, and going by that, you're doing pretty g-” You jump as an empty water bottle comes flying across the room and hits Josh in the face.

“Quit telling people that, you dick! I did _not_ cry!”

You can't help but to let out a strangled string of shocked giggles.

Josh is laughing, and, okay, _fuck,_ he has a really cute laugh, and your heart won't quit beating super fast. “Alright, alright—he didn't cry.” You try to will off a stupid grin as Patrick throws a dirty look in Josh's general direction before turning back to the other three teens. “Anyways, look, if you're scared about someone being mean, well, honestly, we're all pretty nice. Patrick's… friend can be a bit of an ass, and he's usually here, but other than him, it's pretty much gay heaven.” You nod, meekly, and pull your phone out as some sort of defense mechanism. You check the time, and scroll through your home screens about ten times, before Josh informs you that the meetings _usually_ don't end until eleven, mostly since that gives everyone enough time to get home before curfew.

“Why so long?”

“We just hang out. Also, I kind of know the guy who runs the rec. center, and he lets us stay late so long as we clean up and don't leave a mess for the janitors. Some of the people that come here are here since it's better than home, or school, or wherever else. It's like—think of it like an AA meeting I guess. What happens in here stays in here, like, no one is going to out you, and you're expected not to out anyone else. Think of it this way: It's like a safe place here.”

You get a random little stroke of confidence as you deadpan; “You're a little preachy.”

He huffs at you. “I'm trying to be reassuring, dude. Indulge me. Feed my ego.”

“You're also a nerd.”

“I resent that. Can I ask why you're scared?”

“It sounds dumb, but things are like… too real. I'm a little scared of my parents finding out about this, since they're huge bible thumpers. I'm not too worried about school, since Brendon can keep his mouth shut, and I'm pretty sure, other than him, no one else goes to my school. Also I don't know if this is me being scared, but I don't _want_ to be like this. I literally wish, more than _anything,_ I could be straight, but I'm not, because apparently Tyler Joseph can't have nice things.”

“Dude, there's nothing wrong with being gay. You like dick; so what? Who cares?”

“God,” comes your dry response.

Josh gives you a bored look. “Really? You come from a religious household. You do realize Christianity, assuming you're Christian, by the way, is literally based on love and forgiveness? Also the bible is such a metaphor, like, you shouldn't even sweat it.”

“True. I'm an atheist.” You pull your knees closer to yourself, and rest your head on your arms. “My parents think I'm at Brendon's house, and his parents think we're at his friend's house. It's a little complicated.”

Josh snorts. “I'm covering for Patrick, apparently. Don't know why, but I am.”

“Do you not want to cover for him or something?”

“Oh, no, don't get me wrong, I do, but he just didn't tell me _why_ this time. Usually it's his boyfriend, who is usually here, actually.”

Another bottle comes flying. “He's not my boyfriend!”

Once you've recovered from the vaguely miffed look Josh has, you respond. “Ah. Maybe his… friend will show. Honestly, I kind of thought that by coming here I'd actually be able to talk to people, yet, here I am, being too nervous to even make eye contact with _Brendon._ Like, I see his ugly ass almost every day, so you'd think I'd be able to at least _look_ at him. _”_

“You're talking to me, and you make eye contact, like, once every ten minutes, so that's something. Like the title says, dude, this is a support group, and we're all here to support each other. It's like a circle-jerk of support. Give it a few more meetings, dude, and you'll be fine. Trust me.”

When you think about going to future meetings, it makes your skin crawl and your hands grow cold. “I don't know about rides, and I don't know how many excuses I can feed my parents.”

“Dude, if you're worried about rides, then _hit me up._ I'll give you one, or have someone else do it. Like, I'm pretty sure we'd all be glad to. Here, give me your phone,” He makes grabby hands at, you guessed it, your phone, so you begrudgingly give it to him. He goes to your contacts, then enters his own number before texting himself from your phone so he can save your number. “Seriously, text me if you need a ride. Or if you just want to talk.”

“Okay, _why_ are you so nice? You met me less than an hour ago.” You're putting your phone back into your pocket as you ask this. You're looking at his face, trying to find any hint of malice, but you can't find any.

He shrugs in response. “I dunno. I'm probably overstepping my bounds, but I try to be the kind of person _I_ needed when I was trying to get my shit together. Like, sexuality wise.”

“I think I just… need a friend. I mean, I have Brendon, but I don't feel like I can trust him. He's a good friend, but I still feel isolated, you know?” Your voice is hushed, and you're about 90% sure no one else in the room, aside from Josh, can hear you.

“I understand that. I have faith in you, little dude.”

“You're an inch taller than me, _at best.”_

He nudges you again, and rolls his eyes. He's about to say something else, but then his phone vibrates. He unlocks it, reads a text, then shows it to you: _im omw dude sorry about being late my mom was up my ass about something then this thing happened but ill explain the thing when im there because holy shit you wont believe it_

You raise your eyebrows at the contact name. “Sugar Daddy?”

Josh yanks his phone away, and looks at the screen. “That fucker—I knew I shouldn't have let him use my phone. I mean, I'm leaving it, but how the hell did I not notice?” He looks at his phone as if it's the toughest riddle in the universe and, for the millionth time, you realize, this dude is fucking adorable and you're probably in hell. “I'll just—I'm going to go tell Patrick, give me a sec.” (When Josh returns you're informed that the guy had already told Patrick, and that the guy's name in Patrick's phone had apparently been changed to 'Big Daddy.')

“I honestly can't wait to meet this guy. He sounds like, really funny.”

“Funny, sure, but he's an ass. The good kind, though. Not the flat, pasty, hairy ones you see on the white dads at McDonald's, but the perky, firm asses you see in like, porn, or something.”

“Oh my god,” You can't help but to laugh, and subconsciously, you kind of sort of lean on Josh, and you only notice when he adjusts himself. He doesn't seem to notice, but you're burning up, what from the embarrassment and all, and he just looks a little curious as to why you're suddenly clammed up.

Another ten minutes of small talk and blushing coming from your end, the door opens hard enough that, honestly, you're surprised it didn't just fly right off the fucking hinges right then and there. In all of his apparently closeted glory, there stands Pete, out of breath, and looking a little pissed off. _“Holy shit, you guys will_ not _believe what just h-_ wait, _what the fuck?!”_ Shock is written all over his face as he looks back and forth between you and Brendon. “What the hell are the two of you doing here?”

Brendon casually holds his hand up, probably to wave or something, and says, “I'm bisexual.”

Pete looks to you, and, once again, your face is red, but you manage to state that you are, in fact, gay. It feels weird. Like, literally, _weird._ The words 'I'm gay' feel foreign on your tongue, as if you're trying to teach yourself a new language. You have trouble forming the words, but you do manage without feeling quite as nauseous as you did previously.

Pete just blinks. “Huh. Well, as tradition goes—I'm Pete, my sexuality is a fucking mystery, and I'm trying to push through the shock of realizing that I have not _one_ straight friend, and that I am also, in fact, a magnet for gays.” Patrick snorts loudly in response to Pete, and you crack a small grin.

 

Just as Josh had said, the meeting ends at eleven. Over the course of those four hours, you'd made a friend out of Josh, and probably made friends out of everyone else in there, and you're actually kind of excited. You think the feeling of having friends is something worth getting excited about. You're a little bit more excited to be friends with Josh, though. You had figured out pretty quickly that you didn't have to inhibit yourself around him, and it felt… relieving. It's not as if you had to hide yourself around Brendon, or Pete either now, but it just felt _weird_ being open about _gay_ things with them.

Back at Brendon's house, you change into your pajamas, and toss the clothes he'd let you borrow into his laundry hamper. You sit on his bed, and you watch him make himself at home on the shitty futon on the other side of the room that really isn't comfortable. For whatever reason, he fucking loves that thing, and you don't think you're ever going to know why.

Brendon adds an extra lilt in his voice as he starts speaking; “So, how was it? Did you have fun?”

“I mean, it was alright. I had a little fun. It wasn't… bad. Definitely not what I expected. Um, you also like, don't have to worry about giving me rides I guess. Josh said he'd be like… willing to uh, you know, _hook me up,_ if I needed one.” You're mumbling by the end of that sentence, and you'd gone from eye contact with Brendon to picking at one of your fingernails.

Brendon just _scoffs._ He scoffs at you a lot. You've noticed that. “Dude, the day you don't get a ride from me is either the day I get sick or the day I die. I had a fucking _awesome_ time. That Patrick kid is a fuckin' card, and _dude,_ I did _not_ expect to see Pete there.”

At the 'Pete' part, you look up. “ _Right?_ Like, I would've been less surprised if my fucking _brother_ showed up rather than Pete. Okay, actually, that isn't true, but I'm pretty sure I have whiplash from that plot twist, you know?” The two of you laugh about a few things that had happened (namely the water bottle incidents, and Pete's sudden entrance) until a realization dawns on you. “Uh, what should I do if my parents start questioning why I'm suddenly coming over here every weekend?”

“Tell them we have a project. That'll buy you a few weeks to come up with an excuse. I'd suggest sneaking out, but, quite frankly, your parents scare me, and I don't want to end up being collateral damage. I mean, you could also stay at other people's houses, or say you are, then just come here or something.”

“Yeah, but _every_ weekend?”

“You're seventeen, dude. You're bound to have friends at some point, so why not start now? I mean, you're old enough that your parents shouldn't have as much of a say in the shit you do as they already do, you know?”

“Okay, backtracking to earlier; have you _met_ my parents? They're scary. I would be _killed_ if I dare crossed them. Shit, I get grounded just for talking back sometimes.”

“So? Sneak out. Be rebellious. Run away.”

“If I ran away, they'd probably send the national guard after my gay ass, then they'd just kill me anyways for running away. Or for trying to, at least.”

The two of you go on like that, running in circles, probably for another ten minutes, before getting interrupted by Brendon's mother who is informing the two of you that Pete's there, and that Brendon needs to go get him. She also says 'hi' to you, and you give her a small smile. She's a nice woman, and you kind of wish she was your mom sometimes. Brendon thinks she's a hard-ass, but you'd kill for a parent as lenient as she is.

Once Pete's in the room, you end up being the third wheel, so you whip your phone out and scroll through your contacts, which honestly is a very short list, before landing on Josh's contact. You open up a text conversation with him, and type out a simple, 'hi.' You hover over the 'send' button for a good five minutes, before pressing it on accident due to one of the other boys startling you.

 

 **Josh:** hey! I was actually just about to text you and ask if you had a good time

 **Tyler:** uh I did I guess idk it was better than I expected and not what I thought it'd be in the first place

 **Josh:** its kinda scary but you get used to it lol patrick's normally not throwing water bottles at me, by the way

 **Josh:** do you think youre gonna come back?

 **Tyler:** next week at the least idk im gonna have to pull an excuse to go over to brendon's house which is going to be a feat in and of itself since my parents are super stingy on sleepovers in the first place

 **Josh:** oh sorry about that :( try telling them youre in a club? I mean technically it kind of is a club

 **Tyler:** what kind of _club_ would require me being out on friday nights?

 **Josh:** dude tell them you're in a movie club or something

 **Josh:** like, movies are long, and if you're out super late, theyd probably let you stay at someones house, you know?

 **Tyler:** that's actually a pretty good idea what the hell

 **Josh:** well call me jesus because baby I am rising

 **Tyler:** what is that even supposed to mean

 **Josh:** I dont know I am very tired and it sounded better in my head ok

 **Josh:** also, if the movie club idea goes belly up you could always pull the teenage rebellion card

 **Tyler:** fuck that noise id get killed if I did I just got done telling brendon that

 **Josh:** lol true

 **Josh:** I really hate to cut this short but i've been awake since five, I worked a ten hour shift, then i've been busy all evening so I really need to get some sleep!

 **Josh:** it was fun talking to you, dude! Hope to see you next week! :D  <3

 **Josh** : (ps u should try to sleep too ur not gonna grow up big and strong if ur up until two every night ;P )

 

Your eyes widen ridiculously at the little heart emoticon, and as fate would have it, the other two notice, and ask if you saw porn or something, which you deny. Furiously. You do _not_ need them to think you're weirder than you actually are. You turn your phone screen off, then reach across the bed to claim Brendon's phone charger as your own for the night. (You have two, and one of which you have to hold in a really specific position to work. You'd ask for a new one, but you don't want to be fed with a load of shit about how you don't work for anything anymore.)

Around four, Brendon's asleep, as is Pete, so you slip out, with your phone, a jacket, and a pair of shoes that you think are yours, before heading to the front door. You're not going to go far, but you need a walk to clear your mind, or to at least organize your wildly scattered thoughts.

 

When Monday comes around, your mood is considerably better, and you don't feel quite as out of place as you had on Friday. Surprisingly, you'd made quite a bit of headway over the weekend, and you'd like to think that the headway was due to being away from your family for a little bit. (You were informed that you _had_ to go to church the next weekend, though, when your mother called you on the phone yesterday. You really weren't looking forward to it.)

Monday goes rather well, up until you get home, at least. There aren't any issues during your classes, and you spend most of the day basking in what you think is just _satisfaction_ from how great the weekend was.

When Brendon drops you off at your house, you immediately get a sinking feeling in your gut, and it feels as if it takes decades for you to make your way from the sidewalk to the front door. You stare at the door for what feels like ten minutes but is actually about five seconds in real time. Eventually you take a deep breath and step inside. Your sister is already there, taking her shoes off, and she asks you about your weekend. You tell her it was good, and that not a whole lot had happened.

For the most part, you were telling the truth. The last part was a lie, though. Okay, in reality, not a lot happened, but it _felt_ like a lot, so that right there? Yeah, that felt like a lie to you. Your sister just says, “That's nice,” before going on about her day, and doing whatever it is teenager girls do in their spare time.

As soon as your mother catches sight of you, she's up your ass about your homework, the clothes you're wearing, the way your hair looks, and about every single fucking thing she could possibly find wrong with your appearance and attitude.

Along with the nit-picking, you also get a pretty lengthy lecture about missing church, and about how you'd better not make a habit of it. You feel a little bitter when you think about how you're going to eventually have to leave the church, renounce your Christianity, and possibly even leave your family in the process. It scares the shit out of you, like a lot of things, but you figured that in the long run, safety and mental well being came before family.

 

At dinner, and after grace, one of your brothers starts talking about a new student in one of his classes. (You weren't 'smart' (for lack of a better word) enough to get into the private school they all went to, but, you counted that as a blessing, and decided not to question it more than necessary.) “I think he's gay. Like, he looks and _acts_ gay. Honestly, I don't know how he got into our school. It's a _religious_ school. For _Christians.”_

You father shakes his head, and agrees with your brother. You find it kind of sad that the poor kid is only fifteen yet he's had hatred and bigotry driven into his heart.

Eventually, you get asked for your opinion on the issue, and against your better judgment, you say, “Gays are people too. They can be religious, and I don't see why they should have to hide themselves just to cater to the rest of us.” You push peas around your plate, and avoid eye contact, which is becoming a common tactic for you.

The silence in the room felt physically heavy on you, and you're pretty sure you heard a fly fart it was so quiet. You continue to avoid eye contact, and you fight back the pathetic feeling of your throat closing up. You don't need to cry right now. They might suspect. Now isn't a good time for them to start suspecting.

As expected, your father puts down his silverware, and forces you to look him in the eye. He recites a few verses from the bible, and the moment lasts for _hours._ Metaphorical hours, of course. “Long story short, it's _wrong,_ and if you're really a _Christian,_ you're going to agree with me.” He's using his big, and loud, intimidating father voice. It's the one that you _have_ to agree with, lest you get yelled at 'til he's blue in the face.

“Sorry sir,” comes your polite response before you ask to be excused. Your father looks as if he's about to protest to that, but your mother excuses you before he can get a word in edgewise.

About half an hour after dinner, you seek your mom out, and inform her of the _movie club._ “It's every Friday. We watch a movie around seven, then we have this like, huge discussion on it, and we break it down. It's pretty fun, actually. Um, I kind of went with Brendon last week. Anyways, can I like, go? On Fridays. All Fridays.”

You aren't expecting it to work, but it _does,_ and you thank God for Josh's little idea, and you also thank God for the fact that your mother, at the very least, trusts you. “As long as you can get a ride, I don't see why not.” She sounds so _pleasant,_ and you're curious about what she'd say, or even  _do,_ if she knew the truth.

“Awesome. Thanks, Mom.” She just smiles sweetly as you head to your bedroom to text Brendon about the latest developments.

 

 **Tyler:** my mom bought the movie club bullshit

 **Brendon:** sweeeeeet!

 

 **Tyler:** I told my mom that I was in a movie club lol

 **Josh:** oh?

 **Josh:** how did it go

 **Tyler:** uh well actually she totally bought it

 **Tyler:** she said as long as I could get a ride id be cool to go

 **Josh:** dude thats awesome!

 **Tyler:** what do I do if they (her and my dad) find out tho lol

 **Josh:** do what I like to do: fuck it

 **Tyler:** I cant exactly whip my dick out to do that in this situation

 **Josh:** omg im kidding

 **Josh:** also thats not what I meant and u know it

 **Josh:** idk man youre in the clear for now so I wouldnt worry about it yknow

 **Josh:** arent you like 17 anyways

 **Tyler:** ill be 18 in december but yea

 **Josh:** ok ur literally almost an adult so I wouldnt sweat it

 **Tyler:** oh man you dont know my parents but ill try not to lol

 **Josh:** dude I gotta make myself something to eat im starving so if u wanna continue this conversation you, sir, should call me

 

You reread his last message over and over. Call him? That suggestion left you wondering, _'What are we?'_ You never really called anyone on the phone; you mostly stuck to texting. Brendon wasn't huge on talking on the phone, and he's the only one you usually texted anyways, so again, you never really called anyone on the phone. Mostly you think it's because you're awkward and not the best at conversation, so not a lot of people like to bother.

You do end up calling Josh, though. It's dumb, and you think it's a little pathetic, but you're having a little trouble catching your breath and getting your nerves under control. _Oh, god. My voice is too high pitched, I stutter too much, he probably didn't expect me to call him, he's probably only being nice out of courtesy, and fuck I shouldn't be doing this. I'm stupid. God god god I should just hang up while I have the ch- “Hello?”_

You're fucked; he sounds nice even on the _phone. No one_ sounds nice on the phone. “Uh. Hi.”

You can practically _feel_ the smile through the phone. _“Hey, dude!”_

The two of you make small talk for a while, mostly talking about the weather, making jokes about the weather, then somehow getting into a discussion over rigatoni and what sauces suit the noodle the best. _“How was your day?”_

Your _day,_ he is asking about your _day._ Literally no one, aside from your parents, ask about your day, and you're pretty sure your parents only ask out of necessity. “Uh, it was alright. Pete almost broke Brendon's nose, and that was actually pretty funny. Kind of had an incident at dinner, though.”

 _“_ _Wait, how do you almost break someone's nose?”_

“You've met Pete. Don't question him. He's an enigma wrapped in even more enigmas.”

 _“_ _True. What happened at dinner?”_

You shift awkwardly on your bed, where you're sitting, obviously. You cringe at how the bed creaks just the slightest, and you pray Josh can't hear it through the phone. “There's this new kid at my brother's school, and he thinks the kid is gay for some reason. Everyone at the table pitched in with their shitty opinions, and then my dad asked me about _my_ opinion.”

 _“_ _What did you say-shit—fuck—go on, dude, I just dropped tomato sauce on my shirt. I will live.”_

You try not to grin at the image of Josh trying to wedge his phone between his ear and his shoulder while trying to scrub tomato sauce off of his shirt. It's a ridiculous image. “Basically I just said that _gays_ shouldn't have to hide themselves or their lifestyle just to cater to everyone else. As expected, my father had a fit, recited about five hundred verses from the bible, then pretty much forced me to agree with him.” It takes you a minute or two to actually say all of this, and you hear a sympathetic sigh from the other end. Or, well, you assume it's sympathetic. Sympathy is the least embarrassing thing to have someone feel. “Also, when I got home, my mom backed me into a corner, and ripped me a new one about pretty much _everything.”_

 _“_ _Seriously? That's pretty shitty. I'm making a disgusted face. That is like,_ really _shitty.”_

“Right?”

 _“Yeah, man. Look, people are dumb and ignorant, and I'm sorry that your parents sound like they fall under that group. I dunno, a lot of people don't, like—they don't understand the whole gay thing, and I think it scares them, you know?”_   You hear a plate clinking in the background, and the phone, presumably, shifts, due to the shuffling noises you're met with. _“There's a lot of misconceptions about queer people, and most everyone else? They don't bother to educate themselves, and they stick to flimsy metaphors. It's despicable.”_

 _Preachy as ever, I see._ “Honestly, I wonder what they'd do if they _knew._ I'd like to think that they'd magically just change all of their views, just because I'm their son, and they're supposed to love me or whatever, but I don't think that would happen. I don't _like_ being pessimistic, but getting kicked out is honestly the only outcome I can imagine.”

 _“_ _This is probably the worst place for me to cut the call, but, I'm gonna eat, alright?”_

“Alright, man.”

 _“_ _Hit me up later, little dude. Or text me. Either one works.”_ And then the call ends.

 

 **Josh:** ill fight ur parents for u

 **Josh:** call me josh, defender of the gays

 **Tyler:** you're like two inches taller than me and you look just about as skinny

 **Tyler:** good luck buddy

 **Josh:** don't doubt me i'll give them the ol' razzle dazzle

 **Tyler:** what does that even mean omg

 **Josh:** you'll see what it means when I fight them >:(

 **Tyler:** is it bad to say im actually a little scared of the ol' razzle dazzle

 **Josh:** nah man that shit is INTENSE u should be scared

 **Tyler:** have I told you you're a nerd yet

 **Josh:** yes and I still resent that >:(((

 **Tyler:** to reiterate: ur a nerd

 **Josh:** on a serious note if u ever get kicked out hit me up ill help u find a place to stay dude

 **Tyler:** thanks management

 **Tyler:** ….i have autocorrect turned on

 **Josh:** call me josh, the management

 **Tyler:** first ur jesus, then defender of the gays, now ur the management

 **Tyler:** what else are you

 **Josh:** probably god idk man

 

The two of you go back and forth like that until ten, which is when you fall asleep. When you're falling asleep, you think about how weird it feels for someone to be able to calm you down like that. You weren't really that worked up in the first place, but he at least managed to distract you for a while and helped you forget about the shit going on. It's nice.

 

At the second meeting, you're still pretty nervous, but you're able to walk in without Brendon having to drag you. Pete had tagged along with the two of you this time, under the guise of him being too lazy to drive himself. Ryan, nor Patrick, are there, and neither is Ashley. (Josh was the only one in the room, and you turn about fifty shades of scarlet when you see him. Why? You don't know. You honestly don't. Probably because he's cute and he's nice to you, but Brendon's objectively cute, and he's pretty nice to you, so why don't you turn red when you see _him?_ )

 

By eight, Brendon's getting restless, and he suggests the four of you go for a walk, or something, since sitting in the room was _boring._ You couldn't disagree with him. It was boring. Sure, you were having a pretty good discussion with Josh, but you were still a little bored without the other three teenagers poking fun at each other.

 

Around nine, the four of you are at an Olive Garden, eating, and joking around. Brendon flicks pasta at Pete, which gets his shirt messy, when causes Pete to flick a piece of spaghetti back at Brendon in retaliation. Brendon mourns the loss of his white shirt, and you laugh at him, up until Josh puts an ice cube down the back of your shirt.

The four of you continue laughing and having a jolly old time up until you hear your mother's shrill voice cutting through the idle chatter of the restaurant. She hasn't seen you, yet, but you know her voice when you hear it. Your laughter had stopped immediately, and Brendon apparently heard her too, because his head whips around, and his eyes are about the size of the damn moon as they land on your mother.

Pete, and Josh, are both confused, and Pete's asking what the hell had happened to you and Brendon. Brendon points at you, and mouths, “His mom is here.”

Pete grimaces. Josh pulls another sympathetic face. You cringe.

Two minutes, and a fifty dollar bill from Josh to the waitress later, the four of you manage to get out alive, and unseen. “If shit like that keeps happening, I'm going to die at the age of forty.”

After everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief, Brendon gets the 'okay' from his mother to bring the three of you home with him.

 

Back at Brendon's house, you end up on the bed, against the wall, next to Josh. Brendon and Pete, similar to the last time you were there, are discussing something trivial that you really can't be bothered to care about. At some point, though, you apparently fall asleep. See, that wouldn't have been a big deal if it weren't for the fact you fell asleep _on Josh._

When you hear the shutter of a camera, you're up straight and about three feet away from Josh, glaring at Brendon as your face pulls its regular routine of turning into a tomato. Brendon's just grinning as he hands you a Polaroid. You look at the Polaroid once it's developed, and groan before handing it to Josh. He gives you a raised eyebrows kind of look, and you just turn your head in a different direction.

 

 **Josh:** you do realize I genuinely dont care abt u falling asleep on me right

 **Tyler:** I do now but im embarrassed

 **Josh:** im putting the picture in my wallet

 **Tyler:** have fun

 **Josh:** also you dont have to sit ten miles away from me

 **Tyler:** why arent you annoyed or something

 **Josh:** [image attached]

 

He sends you a screenshot of the first message.

 

 **Tyler:** smart ass

 **Josh:** tell me to knock it off if im making you uncomfortable

 

As he sends the last message, you feel his hand wrap around one of your arms to gently tug you back towards him. You sigh, spiritually. You've heard the metaphor about butterflies in your stomach, but this felt like you have five hundred hummingbirds in there instead. You think you're probably on fire, and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. _Why am I getting worked up over sitting next to him? Jesus Christ._

What you find a little surprising, though, is that although you're nervous as hell, you're not _uncomfortable._ You're the exact _opposite_ of that. You've known this guy for a week and he's already a source of fucking comfort for you. You're as calm as you possibly can be, and it's just _weird._ You've known Brendon for four years, yet you're just _barely_ able to feel as if you're comfortable around him.

 

 **Tyler:** I think you're fine

 

_I shouldn't get attached. He's probably going to break my heart._

 

When you wake up the next morning, you roll over and are greeted with Josh's sleeping face and another sharp feeling of _shock_ because how the _hell_ does someone look _cute_ while _sleeping._ You feel rested just _looking_ at him. You let the thought go through your head a few more times before being hit with another sharp feeling, except this time, it's fear. You shouldn't be thinking like that. Denial seems like the next best option until you remember that denial is part of what got you into this mess in the first place.

You stare at his face for a while until his eyes suddenly open, and he's looking you dead in the eye. “Why are you staring at me?” His breath smells like something dead, and it's actually like, really gross. Cute boy or not, no one can make morning breath smell nice.

“I didn't want to wake you up if I were to get up or something.”

He grunts before sitting up and yawning. “I sleep like a rock, dude. You'd have been fine.”

When Josh actually gets out of the bed, he trips over Pete, who'd apparently been sleeping on the floor next to the bed. Josh yelps, Pete wakes up whining about Josh's foot nailing him in the balls, and when Josh goes down, he lands on Brendon, then Brendon, god bless his reflexes, decks Josh in the jaw, and all you can do is just laugh because _holy shit,_ what just happened?

Brendon lifts his head to give you a dirty look as he says, “You're next, asshole.”

 

When you go home on Monday, it isn't bad as the previous one. There aren't any fights, but, for whatever reason, everything is tense. Dinner is eaten mostly in silence, aside from your parents asking the four of you routine questions about how your days had went and school and whatever else it is parents like to ask about. You get out of the dining room pretty quickly once you're excused, finish what homework you have, then you do it. You text him. You text _Josh._

 

 **Tyler:** superficial

 **Josh:** what

 **Tyler:** my phone autocorrected 'sup' to superficial

 **Josh:** lmao

 **Josh:** not a whole lot is going on

 **Josh:** I just got home from work and then I have to go to the DMV and get my driver's license replaced

 **Tyler:** what happened to ur old one

 **Josh:** its called don't let pete touch your wallet because he will SOMEHOW manage to break your driver's license in half

 **Tyler:** how can you even…?

 **Josh:** I have no clue

 **Josh:** u wanna sneak out tonight ;)

 **Tyler:** give me incentive

 **Josh:** I will take u to ur choice of any 24 hour fast food restaurant

 **Josh:** AND I will pay

 **Tyler:** taco bell?

 **Josh:** hell yes buddy

 **Tyler:** you're serious about this right

 **Josh:** as a heart attack

 

It is _literally_ going against every single bit of common sense you have to go along with this, but there's a cute boy offering to buy you Taco Bell, so the risk seems worth it. With a dumb grin on your face you reply to his latest text with your address, and tell him that eleven sounds good to you. He agrees, simply saying, “See you at eleven.”

You take a shower, and try to get ready to go out without your parents noticing. It's hard, but you manage, so you seek your sister out around ten, and put in a request. “Uh, hey, I'm going to like… sneak out, and go on a date, so I'd appreciate it if, one, you didn't tell on me, and two, you can cover for me.” 'Going on a date' sounds less suspicious than 'I'm having this guy I just met like a week ago take me to Taco Bell at midnight.'

She looks a little curious, but she doesn't question you. “I'll try. If they know you're not here, though, there really won't be a lot I can do. Also, I caught Zack sneaking out last Wednesday, so if you go down, he's going down with you.”

Ah, yes; mutually assured destruction via little sister. Truly the greatest thing in existence. “Thanks. I'm going to leave around eleven, so everyone _should_ be in bed. Seriously, though, if I get caught, you best throw Zack under the bus as well.”

She waves you off with a snort and a roll of her eyes as she goes back to doing what you assume is homework.

 

When eleven rolls around, you get a text from Josh informing you that he is parked down the street. You pretty much launch yourself at full speed out of your bedroom window, and only stop when you make awkward eye contact with Zack, who is about half way out of his own window. “Don't fuck me over, and I won't fuck you over,” is all he says.

Obviously, you just nod and head in your own direction. You figure he's going to a party. Only fifteen, yet he does the walk of shame almost every other day. You honestly don't know how your parents haven't picked up on it yet. Every few days or so he stumbles out of his room, reeking of vodka and weed.

As promised, what you assume is Josh's car is parked a house or two down the street, and you trot towards it. You don't know what kind of car you expected him to drive, but, a Mustang wasn't it. It's not new, or you don't think it is anyways, but it still looks like a high-end car, and no offense at all intended towards Josh, but, it seems _wildly_ out of his price range.

As you're approaching the car, Josh's head pokes out of the window on the driver's side, and you're a little relieved, since, for whatever reason, you were a little worried about accidentally getting into a strangers car and embarrassing the hell out of yourself. Irrational, sure, but it was definitely a fear of yours for at least a few minutes.

Once you're in the car, and your seat belt is buckled, you ask Josh how the hell he's able to afford a Mustang.

“It's called having rich family members who have nothing else to spend their money on when you turn sixteen,” he remarks, dryly, before changing gears and heading off in the direction of what you assume is a Taco Bell.

He asks you about your day, so you prepare the monologue. “It was pretty good. Pete dared Brendon to go streaking through the senior hall.”

“Please tell me he didn't actually do it.”

“He totally did it. One of the teachers chased him for like, three blocks. He ended up having to run home naked because Pete still had his clothes.” Josh has to stop the car, since he's choking on his spit from laughing too hard. He looks ridiculous, and you start laughing at how he's basically asphyxiating. “Dude, calm down!” (You get a vague feeling of _wrong_ for letting yourself enjoy how he looks, but you squash it, because, come _on,_ you have to live some time.)

“My spit isn't my friend.” He coughs throughout that statement, but still manages to keep a smile, which is totally endearing.

“Oh, dude, you want to hear something dumb I did when I was a freshman?” _Oh, man, he isn't prepared for this one. If he thought that was ridiculous, well, this is worse._

“Of course. Do tell.”

“Okay, Brendon and I had this thing where we would dare each other to do ballsy shit, you know? One day, he went too far. 'Tyler, I dare you to climb to the top of the art building.' I'm good at climbing things. Like, ridiculously good.”

Josh slams on his brakes, and you thank the Lord the two of you are in an empty street. “Wait—were _you_ the dumb ass who got stuck on top of the art building at Capitol a few years ago?”

“Yes.” You don't mean to, but, you sound ashamed. Very, _very_ ashamed.

“ _How?”_

“I scaled the side of the building. There's a lot of ledges and stuff. I just wasn't able to get down. I got grounded for two months and suspended for a week. Totally worth it.”

Josh just lets out another series of giggles made out of sunshine and gold, which causes you to absolutely _melt._ “That's fucking awesome.” He reaches over and squeezes your shoulder, probably in favor of a hug, then returns his hand to the steering wheel. “It feels weird that we went to the same high school for at least a year. Dude, we could've been friends.”

“You were a junior or a senior when I was a freshman. We would _not_ have been friends. Do you know how annoying I was?”

“You think I was any better? I looked like someone who was taken right off of MySpace circa 2008 when I was a senior.”

“That _was_ 2008.”

 

Twenty minutes later, the two of you are sitting in the parking lot of a Taco Bell, eating, you know, _tacos,_ and talking about dumb things. Eventually, after you run out of dumb things to talk about, you ask him about _his_ day.

“Boring. I got up, I showered, I got dressed in khakis and a polo, went to work for ten hours, then I came home, and now I'm here.”

You swallow a bite of taco, then wash it down with a swig of soda before asking, “What do you even do for a job?”

“I'm a receptionist at a hospital. It's… very exciting. By that, I mean it's the most mind-numbing job I've ever had, but it's easy work for a decent wage, plus it pays the bills, so I don't care.”

“Do you have your own place or something?”

“ _Yes._ I got kicked out about a month before I graduated, and I moved into my apartment like the month after I graduated. I dunno, it's not the best place. It's in an okay-ish part of the city, which is a plus, but it's a little run down and the insulation is like, really bad. It's better than living with my parents, or on the streets, so, like I said earlier, I don't care.”

“What do you like to do? Also, sorry if I'm being invasive.”

He shrugs. “You're fine; I like to do cute boys.”

You snort soda through your nose. _“That is not what I meant.”_

He giggles. “I play drums and I watch The Walking Dead about as much as I breathe.”

“Drums? That's cool. I can sing. Kind of. I can also play the piano pretty good.”

He nods, and a few moments of silence go by before he slams his hands down on the steering wheel. “Dude. _Dude._ We're both gay.”

“I'm aware.”

“Let's talk about boys. I don't have any gay guy friends or straight lady friends, so _please,_ talk to me about _boys.”_

“I… don't really talk about boys either? What do we talk about? They're cute, I guess.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. “What _kind_ of boys do you like?”

“I don't know if I really even have a preference. I find a lot of people attractive I guess, but they don't all look the same. I think I _might_ have a thing for brunettes, but other than that, I'm not too sure.”

“I'm a sucker for brown and hazel eyes. I don't know what it is, but brown and hazel eyes are _so_ pretty, and they make my heart throb. Honestly, boys in general are _great._ I love boys.” Josh sighs wistfully, and _god damn it,_ how is someone so _adorable?_ You're glad you're able to sigh wistfully  _at_ him, without it being weird since it just seems like you're sighing _with_ him.

 

You end up getting back home around two. It's weird, but it's so _easy_ to get lost in conversation with Josh. He's so easy to talk to, and you feel as if you're free of judgment around him. Before you get out of his car, you lean over, and the two of you execute a hug that lasts just a second too long.

While you walk back to your house, you think about how he smells. It sounds creepy, it does, but he has a distinct smell. His car smells like cheap air fresheners with undertones of cigarette smoke. (He said he smoked cigarettes once in a while, but that he didn't make a regular habit out of it.) You think it's probably the body wash and laundry detergent he uses, but Josh himself smells like citrus and lavender. It's an odd combination, but you like it.

 

(You get a string of texts from Josh just as you're about to fall asleep.)

 

 **Josh:** hey dude sorry about keeping you out so late :(

 **Josh:** I had a really good time and ur fun to talk to

 **Josh:** also probably getting too personal but I have kind of a hard time talking to people so that was super nice

 **Josh:** thanks I guess?

 **Josh:** wow sorry I feel like im an awkward 14 year old again

 **Josh:** anyways I hope you sleep well and stuff! <3 see you on friday hopefully!

 

The Friday before Halloween is the Friday you don't have a ride. Brendon was out sick, Pete had gone AWOL, Ashley was busy, Patrick was AWOL as well, and you didn't quite trust Ryan, so you were left with Josh.

 

 **Tyler:** brendon is sick and pete/patrick are awol and I kindasorta need a ride :(

 **Josh:** done

 **Josh:** when do u need to be picked up

 **Tyler:** like two hours idk im at school still lol

 **Josh:** do u want me to pick u up early

 **Tyler:** I would love that but sadly you arent my father or any other of-age relative

 **Josh:** well shit ill see you around three thirty then

 

(You won't openly admit to this, but you're a little disappointed that Josh missed the opportunity to make a 'daddy' joke.) 

You shoot Brendon a text, and tell him that, if anyone asks, namely your parents, you're at his house. Brendon just says, 'Will do,' before he quits replying again. You assume he's been sleeping off-and-on all day.

 

Josh is waiting in the parking lot, sitting on the hood of his car, playing a game on his phone when your last class of the day gets out. As soon as he catches sight of you, he's sliding off of his car and pulling you into a hug once you're in grabbing distance. (You'd figured out pretty quickly that Josh was _really_ affectionate, so the sudden hugs quit surprising you after a while.) You return the hug, and the two of you hold it for a little too long before detaching from each other and getting into the car. (You're informed that he normally gets to the rec. center an hour or two early, mostly to get everything set up and in order.)

He takes you back to his apartment. You'd been there a few times before, but mostly just for a few minutes at a time, and generally there were at least two other teenagers with you anyways. This time, you actually get a chance take it in. “I'm going to shower, but uh, you can use my phone charger,” he points to the plug-in on the right side of his couch, “or you can watch TV. Or both. Just—don't like… burn my apartment complex down.”

You give him a thumbs up before he disappears into the hallway.

The couch in his living room is comfortable, and you're close to nodding off when Josh returns from his shower. He isn't wearing a shirt, and you all but choke on your own spit because _holy shit_ he's hot. “Dude, word of advice: Do _not_ try getting yourself into leather pants if you're not completely dried off. It is hard as hell, and I wouldn't recommend it.”

“Why would you even wear leather pants in the first place? Your legs should be like hamburger meat, what with the chaffing and all.”

“They make my ass look good,” He says, simply, as if it makes complete sense. You scoff, which causes him to reply in kind. “Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it.” As if to prove himself, he smacks his own ass while looking you directly in the eye.

All you can manage to get out is, “Oh my god,” which prompts a series of giggles out of him.

He walks into the kitchen, and in a raised voice, he asks, “Do you want to eat something? I have leftover pizza and leftover macaroni and cheese.”

“Pizza!”

“Alright, dude!” He returns a minute or two later with pizza for the two of you.

“Thanks, man. I'm starving.” You fold your own slice of pizza in half, and eat almost half of it in one bite, without even thinking about it first. You've always been a shy eater; eating in front of people isn't your favorite thing to do, but sitting in Josh's living room, pretty much inhaling pizza while watching Days of Our Lives, just felt so shockingly _normal,_ as if it was as easy as breathing.

While he's trying to figure out what's going on in the world of Days of Our Lives, you allow yourself to openly stare at him. He still doesn't have a shirt on, and you watch his muscles move under his skin as he stretches towards his coffee table to grab the remote. “Change the channel. If I have to watch one more second of this show, I'm going to die.”

You end up changing the channel to Disney, and the two of you watch a Hannah Montana rerun. Neither of you talk, other than Josh dropping a snide comment once in a while, and honestly, it's actually not awkward. You're kind of just enjoying his company. A few minutes into another rerun, his landline rings, and when he leans over to pick it up, he ends up pretty much just laying in your lap, and it takes every single fiber of your being _not_ to pop a boner. He doesn't move away until he hangs the phone up, saying, “Telemarketer.”

 

A few hours of hanging out later, the two of you head off for the rec. center. You end up having to borrow a jacket from him since it was super cold, and you'd forgotten to grab a jacket from your locker when he'd picked you up. The jacket you borrow isn't anything special; it's plain, it's black, and it fits. Josh said it was too small for him, and that you could actually _have_ it. You thanked him. Profusely.

Come eight, no one is there yet, and Josh gets the first text from Ashley. “She has a project that she can't _not_ do tonight.”

The two of you talk about food until eight thirty-ish, which is when he gets the second text. This time, it's from Patrick, and according to Josh, it had said, “Pete got in a car accident, and Patrick's apparently at the hospital with him. He's alright, and Patrick said that all he had was whiplash, so that's better than being dead I guess.”

“Figures that's the reason he wasn't as school,” You mutter as you pick at one of your fingernails.

The third text is from Ryan, and you're informed that there was a death in the Ross family. “Huh. This is the first time no one's showed up in a few years. There's a few other people who drop in sometimes, but uh, they normally text me before they do. Oh well. Do you want to go get the stuff to make brownies?”

“Dude, I'm always up for brownies.”

“Awesome.”

 

After a trip to Walmart to get brownie mix, mini M&M's, and eggs, the two of you are carrying the bags up to Josh's apartment. It's around ten at that point. Josh hands you his bag as he unlocks the door to his apartment, and you're trying not to give out under the weight of both of them. You make a note to start lifting weights.

Josh leads you into the kitchen, and asks you to unpack everything while he gets a mixing bowl and a whisk out. “I prefer mixing stuff with a whisk. Makes for a fun time, you know?”

You crumple up the grocery bags, and add them to Josh's collection when he points to a cabinet to the right of the sink. “I can relate. I'm kind of bad at controlling electric mixers, so I try not to bother with them to be honest.”

“ _Same._ Also, they're a little spendy. I mean, it's not like I can't afford one, because I can, but I don't want to blow three hundred dollars on an unnecessary mixer that I'm not going to use more than once or twice a year.”

“Who the hell would spend three hundred dollars on a mixer?” You're asking as you open the boxes of brownie mix, before taking the bags out of the boxes.

When you're cutting the bags open with scissors, Josh replies to your question. “People with too much money and a lack of priorities. I mean, I'm not really one to talk.”

“What do you mean?” You frown slightly, in confusion, as you dump the brownie mixes into the mixing bowl.

“Look around, dude. I have a fifty inch flat screen in my living room, memory foam in my _bed_ room, and I drive a Mustang, but I still live in this dinky little apartment.”

“You said the Mustang was a gift, and you work like fifty hours a week, dude.”

“Okay, true, but I don't need any of those.” He reaches around you to grab the jug of milk from the counter, then proceeds to measure out however much milk the boxes called for. “My job isn't even that hard. All I do is take calls, forward them, and like, check patients in when they show up. I don't even have a degree but I have a decent job.”

“Please don't tell me you feel bad about that, because you're _lucky._ If I were you, I wouldn't even question it. I'd just take the job and _run._ ”

“Dude, I did. I spent like ten years after I moved out looking for a job, someone I knew was able to get me that job, plus I get pretty good wages given I'm a receptionist? I've been there for two years and I'm not going to leave until I either get fired or I find a better job.”

“I don't even know what I want to do after high school, or what I'll be able to do. I've kind of been trying to gauge my parents' opinions on gay people, and so far I'm going to assume I'll get kicked out if they find out. If I tell them, they're also going to refuse to pay for college, and if I can't get a scholarship, then I'm not going to go because I don't want to be drowning in student loans for the rest of my life.”

“That's mostly why I didn't go. I didn't qualify for enough scholarships to pay for everything, and balancing school on top of working ten hours a day is basically hell, so I'm not going to bother. I barely managed to get through the last month of my senior year while working, to be honest.”

“I don't know where I'm going to go when they find out. Like I said, I'm pretty sure I'll get kicked out, and I really don't have anywhere to stay.”

“You could stay here?”

“Dude, no. It'd be overstepping my bounds. That's way too much for me to ask for. I already had enough trouble letting you take me to a freakin' Taco Bell at midnight, but asking you if I can live with you? Well, that's just… too much.”

“It's not asking if I'm offering,” His voice is quiet, and gentle, as he cracks a few eggs open into the bowl. You were standing off to the side, melting some butter for the mix over the stove, and watching him out of the corner of your eye. It was weird, but everything _still_ felt normal. The two of you just worked together naturally and fluidly.

“I still don't even know if that's the case, though. I just think it is, and I don't have a good feeling in my gut about the future. I wish I didn't have to be afraid of my parents. I mean, they're supposed to _love_ me, you know? And I'm sure they do, but they wouldn't if I told them.”

“You can say that you're gay around me, dude.”

“I've only said it out loud, like, seven times.”

“Do you really count?”

“I count almost everything. I've gone to Taco Bell with you in the middle of the night three times, I've lied about where I'm at to my parents eleven times in the past five weeks, I've been to church roughly nine hundred times in the seventeen years I've been alive, and,” You rattle off a few more things, and you're a little surprised that Josh doesn't make fun of you or anything, and you're even more surprised that he just seems to understand.

“I get that.”

The two of you talk and work in tandem to finish getting the brownie batter made. You and Josh grab spoons and head into his living room with the mixing bowl to eat the batter that didn't make it out of the bowl and into the baking dish afterwards.

 

About twenty or so minutes into a rerun of Full House, Josh points at a place near the left corner of his mouth. “You, uh, you got a little something…”

You try licking the spot on your face he's gesturing to. “Did I get it?”

“Uh, no.” A slightly conflicted look crosses his face for about a second, and the next thing you know, he's leaning over and taking care of the little speck of brownie batter himself by lightly kissing that part of your face. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when you die. You die right there, and ascend to heaven.

That's a lie, but your breathing did stop, and your eyes did widen considerably. Josh lingers for a second, but then the timer on the oven goes off, so he shoots up and heads to his kitchen.

_Did that seriously just happen?_

 

An hour and a half later, the two of you have gone through half of the pan of brownies, and Josh is trying to explain why he thinks a character in a different TV show is gay. “Look, the way he's characterized—that's not how TV characters are usually characterized. Like, all of his relationships with girls have gone south super fast, and he doesn't even bat an eyelash at girls unless they approach him first. He _does,_ though, stare at boys a lot.”

“That could mean anything, though. I mean, I stare at boys too.”

“Okay, but consider this: _You're_ gay. You're literally just proving my point. And _look,_ right there—,” his arm is flung forward suddenly to gesture at the TV, “look at how he looks at that other guy, and how they _talk._ That is _gay.”_

The two of you discuss Josh's theory for another thirty minutes before you're hit with the realization: “I don't have anything to sleep in. I forgot to grab clothes when I left for school.”

“Do you want me to take you home or something?”

“Lord, no. My parents think I'm at Brendon's, so they'd ask where Brendon's car was.”

“Tell them he parked down the street?”

“Why would he do that? He normally parks either in the driveway or in front of the house. They'd check, then they'd find out I'm _not_ at Brendon's, and I wouldn't be surprised if I got grounded, hit, banned from friends, or all three.”

“Oh.” He shrugs. “Wear some of my clothes. We're about the same size anyways.” He reaches towards the pan of brownies to take one and hand it to you.

“Why are you so _nice?”_

“It's… not a big deal? You have a situation going on, and I'm in a position to where I can help, so I don't see why I shouldn't. Added, I have a _lot_ of clothes. As long as you don't wear any of my khakis or white button-ups you're fine.”

You're a little reluctant, but you do say, “Alright.”

 

Around eight, you're rudely awoken by your phone ringing. Josh had fallen asleep sitting up, and you'd fallen asleep with your head on the arm of the couch and your feet in his lap. It… was comfortable, but a little awkward. Josh gets woken up from your phone as well, and if you weren't dead tired, you would've laughed at how bad it made him jump.

“Hello?”

 _“Hey, dude, the next time you're supposed to be at my house, give me a heads up. Your mom is gonna be here in like, an hour, with your clothes that you apparently forgot. You need to find a way to get over here before then. I have a fever of 102, and I am_ not _moving, so you're on your own.”_ Brendon's voice is muffled, and you cringe slightly as he goes into a coughing fit. _Poor dude._

“Uh, I'll ask Josh if he'll like… bring me over.” You look over to Josh as you say this, and he groggily reaches to his left and dangles his car keys in the air. _Cool. He's up for it._

 _“Alright. I'm going back to sleep.”_ The call ends, and you sit up with an obnoxious yawn.

“Brendon?” Josh stretches, and you hear a bunch of his bones pop.

“Yeah. My mom apparently noticed my forgotten clothes, so she's bringing them to his house in like an hour.”

“Does she snoop or something? I mean, I'm assuming you left them in your room.”

“Both of my parents do. That's why I keep a lot of stuff hidden.”

“Do they check your phone?”

“I don't give them the chance, usually. When they do, they mostly just check my browsing history.”

“Ah. Alright.” Josh goes to his room, and comes back out with a pair of black jeans and a plain gray t-shirt. He also grabs the jacket you wore last night and tosses them all to you. “It's cold, and you're not leaving in those shorts and that t-shirt.”

“Thanks.”

 

Josh stays with you at Brendon's house, saying something about gas prices. Brendon gets up, and long story short, he looks like shit. He's wrapped in a blanket, and nods towards his room. Ten minutes after being in his room, you're asking Josh something when you hear a camera shutter going off, then going off again when you and Josh look towards Brendon.

He hands both of you the Polaroids. You squint at him. You end up taking the one where you're looking at Josh, and Josh takes the one where both of you are still trying to process what had happened. You place the picture in the credit card slot on your phone, and Josh put's his own in his wallet where the first one remained.

You kind of liked the new picture. Josh had this weird look in his eyes as he was talking to you, and you looked genuinely happy, which was a first. The picture already meant the world to you, and you planned on holding on to it as long as you possibly could.

 

Mrs. Urie comes to retrieve you from Brendon's room when your own mother gets there. Josh follows you, and you don't think twice, because it's just something that happened when the two of you were together. He's kind of like your partner in crime, along with your shadow. Sure enough, your mom is standing there with the bag that had your clothes.

You take it from her, thank her, and you're about to go back into Brendon's room when she asks, “Who's this?” in a tone that is surprisingly innocent and pleasant.

“Uh, Josh. He came by last night to hang out, and ended up spending the night. He's in my history class with me.” You're glad Josh looks relatively young still, and that he could pass for an eighteen year old.

Josh gives her one of his gorgeous grins, and you try not to obviously stare at him in awe while he reaches over to shake your mother's hand. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Joseph.”

She smiles sweetly, and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you too, Josh. Tyler, you should invite him over sometime. You never have friends over anymore.”

“I'll look into it,” you mutter.

“I need to go grocery shopping. I'll see you on Monday, alright?” You nod, and she leans forward to give you one of those obnoxious 'Mom Kisses' on the forehead.

 

On Halloween, you end up at a party with Brendon, Pete, and Josh. Josh wasn't originally supposed to come, but you asked him, saying that Brendon and Pete were insufferable when they were drunk, and he'd agreed without hesitation.

Present time, it's around seven, and you're standing in a corner sipping at some probably spiked punch with Josh, and making fun of Brendon, who's been trying to hit on two different people. Pete disappeared, and you had no idea where the little dude had went. Josh starts talking to you about what color he wants to dye his hair next, and asks you to choose from the following choices: Blue, Purple, or Pink.

You look at him, trying to imagine each of the colors on him. “They'd all look super good, dude. Which one do you want?”

“That's why I'm asking you, because I don't _know_ which one I want. I've had my hair blue and purple before, and I liked them, but someone suggested pink, and I like that about as much as I like the other two.”

He agonizes over his hair for a few minutes before you interrupt him. “Dye it pink, then. You've had the other two colors, so, you know, _dye it pink._ I think you'd look cute.” Oops. You meant to say cool, you really did, but cute came out instead, and you don't regret it, because Josh gives you a shy little grin, then knocks into your hip with his own.

“Hush. You're the cute one here. I'm an actual worm.”

“Dude, shut up. You're freakin' adorable.”

“That's a lie. I'm not even a worm, I'm a pupa. You, on the other hand, are the world's smallest, cutest little kitten.”

“If by 'kitten' you mean I'm the cat from The Hunger Games, then you're spot on.”

“All cats are cute so your point is null.” Josh over-dramatically rolls his eyes, sighs, and pulls you into an obnoxious hug. “My poor child, why can't you see that you're a cutie?”

You giggle at him, and shove him away. “Get off of me, you load.”

“Tyler, _please,_ come back—become one with me; let's be the ultimate skeleton.”

“Okay, I was on board with the twin skeleton idea, but I am _not_ fusing with you. That's a little too far dude.” Josh just gives you a fake-disappointed look before the two of you change the subject to something else.

 

Around nine, a group of the other teenagers start up a game of Truth or Dare. You end up getting dragged into the game, along with Josh, on the grounds of, “If I'm suffering, then you're suffering with me.”

Just before the game starts, you get a text from Brendon.

 

 **Brendon:** remember how u told me that u liked josh

 **Tyler:** i will shit in your bed if you do anything

 

You look up from your phone, and across the circle of teenagers to give Brendon the dirtiest look you could muster, only to be met with a shit-eating grin. Josh gives you a curious expression when he notices the exchange, and you just shake your head rapidly.

Brendon doesn't actually even pick on you. He picks _Josh._ “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Brendon's gaze settles on you as he says, “Seven minutes in heaven with Tyler.”

You fought the urge to throw a beer bottle at Brendon as Josh stood up and dragged you with him to a coat closet. As implied by the title, the closet wasn't big, and given that you and Josh aren't the shortest or smallest people around, it was a pretty tight fit. To add to the awkwardness of the situation, the two of you were both wearing skeleton printed spandex jumpsuits.

You end up being too awkward to say anything out loud, so you pull your phone out.

 

 **Tyler:** what are we even supposed to do

 **Josh:** idk exist for the next six minutes ??

 **Tyler:** arent we supposed to kiss or something like isnt that what u do in 7 minutes of heaven

 **Josh:** no I mean thats what they _say_ but u dont _have to_

 **Josh:** unless u want to then im down

 **Tyler:** I mean

 **Tyler:** will it make things weird

 **Josh:** I thought I already made things weird on friday wit hthe brownie batter

 **Tyler:** it was weird for like maybe a day because I kept thinking about it but other than that no I dont think its weird

 **Josh:** oh

 **Josh:** u wanna make out then

 **Josh:** no strings ofc

 **Tyler:** theyre gonna know tho bc facepaint

 **Josh:** we're gonna get shit for it either way dude

 **Tyler:** kiss me before I back out then

 

He doesn't need to be asked twice. You barely have enough time to put your phone in the pocket of your jacket before Josh has his hands on your hips to pull you just a little bit closer so he can press his lips against yours with ease. You don't know what you expected it to be like when (or if) you kissed Josh for the first time, but this wasn't it.

You'd kissed a few girls before, but it hadn't been anything special. Mostly it'd just been at parties Brendon had dragged you to, and the kisses were sloppy and, quite frankly, nasty. You were always expected to _lead,_ and leading just wasn't in your nature. You're not super submissive or anything, but you're not the kind of person who makes first moves, or the person who initiates anything. (At first, at least.)

Josh is slow, gentle, and warm. You can smell the cigarettes and lavender on him, and the faint scents of sweat masked by his sports deodorant. You end up resting your hands on his shoulders, and he presses himself closer to you as he deepens the kiss slightly. You're not good at kissing, like, you're really not, and you hope he doesn't notice, or that he doesn't care. You don't really know what _good_ kissing feels like, but you're pretty sure Josh is good at it, and you're a little self conscious about it.

You're on fire, and every point of Josh's body that's in contact with yours is burning. Your skin is crawling, but in a good way, if that's even possible. For some reason, you thought he was going to be _rough,_ but he isn't. He's anything _but._ He's polite and he isn't getting grabby with you. The most his hands are doing is just holding you in place, maybe helping you keep your balance. Your own hands go from placed on Josh's shoulders to threading themselves into the older man's hair, and you get a little sense of satisfaction from the obscene noise that Josh lets out when you tug at his hair experimentally. He doesn't seem embarrassed in the slightest.

Eventually, the door to the closet is being flung open, and Brendon's standing there with another shit-eating look on his face. You groan and shove the other boy away. “Fuck off, Brendon.”

He just giggles.

 

At midnight, you're at Josh's apartment, sitting on the bathroom counter, while he's cleaning your face off with a make-up wipe. You had plans to spend the night at Josh's apartment, and he'd agreed to drive you over to Brendon's house on his way to work so you'd have a ride to school. You were probably going to be back on Friday anyways, so you didn't see why you couldn't have just gone home with Brendon in the first place.

Oh, wait, yeah, you did. When you'd left, Brendon and his car had been nowhere to be found, and the guy he'd been hitting on was missing too. Pete had been calling Patrick for a ride when you'd left, and it was kind of a mess. When the two of you had left the party, you thanked Josh for actually believing you when you said Pete and Brendon were insufferable when they were drunk, and he'd just blown you off, saying, “Nah, man, you're fine.”

 

Once the two of you are cleaned up and out of the shitty spandex jumpsuits and into pajamas, either of you settle down on Josh's couch to watch a horror movie on Netflix. It's not that scary, in your opinion at least, but Josh still yelps once in a while and cowers into your side, which you find  _really_ adorable. “Dude, this isn't even scary.”

“Shut up, it is too. Like—that little girl? She's just—she's creepy.”

“She's not even a little girl, dude. She's like, what, thirty? In the movie at least.”

“That's even _worse._ I hate children.”

“Nerd,” is all you can say as you try not to laugh at him.

You just get a whack in the arm in response.

 

At two, both of you are pretty tired, and you decide to ask him something. “Hey, Josh?”

“What?”

“We have homecoming in a few weeks, and like, I was wondering if you wanted to, uh, go with me, or whatever...” You shift awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

“Dude, of course. It sounds fun.”

_Fuck yeah. Mission accomplished._

 

On homecoming, your parents are a bit miffed that you didn't stay at home for the few hours beforehand. They wanted to get pictures, which is totally understandable, but you also figured that when prom rolled around, they wouldn't care. You had a vague plan to come out after you were eighteen, but you still aren't sure about it.

Josh, obviously, is your date. He shows up at Brendon's house, hair combed back, dressed in a sharp suit, and just looking _good._ You almost weep. He's so _gorgeous._ His eyes were practically glowing, and he couldn't keep his trademark dumb grin off of his face for more than a few seconds, and  _of course,_ the grin is contagious, since you can't stop smiling either.

Your parents, for whatever reason, were feeling _really_ lenient, and gave you a curfew of one in the morning. The dance itself didn't start until seven, give or take, and it was on a Friday, which meant the group was canceled.

Seven teenagers and Josh, plus Brendon's parents, crammed into the small living room of his house was uncomfortable to say the least. Brendon had his dumb Polaroid camera out, and he was snapping pictures of everyone, especially you and Josh. Why does he have an obsession with taking pictures of you and Josh? You have no idea. This time, at least, the two of you had given him prior consent.

Brendon takes four pictures. The first picture, the two of you are standing next to each other, he has an arm around your waist, and the two of you are smiling. The second picture, either of you are pulling ugly faces and the third picture is the laughing aftermath of the second picture. The fourth picture is the one you keep, even though it's the riskiest. Josh had leaned over, and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, and Brendon happened to catch the exact moment of _'fuck there's a cute guy kissing me on the cheek and I really don't know how to handle this.'_

(Josh has the other three in his wallet.)

 

At 6:45 PM, the group sets off for the high school. You ride with Josh, which is pretty much a given at this point. Everyone else manages to cram themselves into Brendon's shitty Volkswagen, which is just… it's impressive. You didn't think it could be done. (Brendon had also taken the Polaroid camera with him, so you figured you'd have at least five more pictures by the end of the night.)

Once you're standing in the gym, it hits you. You brought a _boy_ to homecoming with your _whole school_ in the room. A whole school made up of mostly homophobes. You tell Josh this, and he shifts awkwardly, looking a little concerned himself. The two of you take to standing off to the side, making small talk, until the first slow dance happens. You had a plan to sit out on all of the slow dances, but Ashley had other plans as she drags you and Josh by the hands out and onto the floor.

You look around yourself, trying to gauge reactions, while also trying to ignore the curious and/or disgusted looks of your peers, when Josh seems to notice you're on the verge of panicking. “Hey, you want to get out of here?” He's whispering into your ear.

You're wildly uncomfortable, and on the way out of the gym, you hear someone drop a slur in relation to you and Josh. Josh, bless his small, gay heart, turns around, and in a completely serious tone, says, “I bench 180; come at me.”

You should've been losing your mind at Josh's remark, but instead all you can do is laugh at what Josh had said, and the look of just absolute _shock_ that had been on the guy's face. The two of you walk hand-in-hand all the way to Josh's car, laughing along the way.

Once both of you are in the car, Josh asks, “Where do you want to go?”

You think for a second, before settling on, “Can we go back to your apartment or something? Or, like, anywhere else but here.”

(You end up at his apartment.)

 

When the two of you are in his apartment, he doesn't take his suit off, and doesn't even attempt to as he strides across his living room to flip through his extensive collection of CDs, before settling on something slow, and quiet. He walks back over to where you're standing, and holds his hand out, saying, “Tyler, will you have this dance with me?”

He's biting his lip, trying not to laugh, because he's well aware of how corny he is. You smile, widely, and nod your head as you take his hand. There's a little room between his coffee table and the TV, so the two of you stand there, swaying back and forth. You're blushing something mad as his hands settle on your hips, and as you throw your arms over his shoulders. He's standing just a little too close, and he looks so _happy._

You can pretty much hear your own pulse as something catches in your throat before you're leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to Josh's lips. It doesn't have any fireworks behind it, and it's not the best kiss, but it marks something monumental in your life. For one thing, you're pretty sure it's your first _official_ kiss, and it's also one of the first times you've been able to have any sort of not-so-platonic physical contact with Josh that doesn't make you feel guilty or ashamed.

_I think I love him. Fuck._

You're moving your head away, trying to shake the thought out of your head, but Josh's lips chase yours, and he pulls you just a little bit closer, causing you to give in. You grin into the next kiss, as does he, and the two of you laugh a little bit. As time goes on, no words are said, but kisses are exchanged once in a while, and eventually you let your emotions get the best of you because you feel tears start to well up in your eyes.

It's not sad crying, but rather _happy_ crying. It's corny as hell. Josh gets concerned anyways, and starts to freak out a little bit, thinking he might've done something wrong. “No, you're alright. I'm like—super happy right now.”

“...So you're crying.”

“Shut up, asshole. I'm overwhelmed, because I've been kissing this really sweet and nice guy for the past twenty minutes, and he's treating me like a _prince,_ he's too good for me, and probably my best friend, and I'm like, super blessed that I have the privilege of knowing him, let alone being able to call him my best friend, and he makes me happy and for fuck's sake I _kissed_ him.”

Josh has this indecipherable look on his face, and it scares you. Either it's good or bad, and as time passes, you're starting to think it's bad. You slowly growing more and more mortified, and embarrassed that you'd just said that to him. You probably would've ran out if he hadn't have given you a bone-crushing hug right before you were about to actually act on the thought.

You return the hug. Obviously.

You hear Josh inhale, shakily, near your ear before he's talking in a voice that's just this whole new level of gentle. He's a gentle guy, and you thought you'd seen every level of gentle he'd had, but apparently not. “I don't know what it is with you, but you pretty much barreled into my life, and tore everything down. You mean a lot to me, and I'm pretty sure the best friend feeling is mutual.” He kisses the top of your head, then finishes his little confession; “It's a privilege to just be in your _presence.”_

You detach yourself from Josh to wipe at your eyes, and explain yourself by saying, “I'm gonna get tears on your blazer.”

You feel the eye roll. “You cry on me all the time, dude, and you know full well I don't care. Also, tears don't stain.”

“Yeah, true.” You hide your face in your hands as you say the next part. “Can we like, cuddle or something?”

“Yeah, of course. Take your shoes off, though. Don't want my furniture to get dirty.”

You nod, and wipe your eyes one last time before kicking off your loafers.

 

Cuddling with Josh is weird but also not weird. You'd cuddled with him before, mostly on accident, or if you were having a panic attack, but this time it wasn't for comfort or because the two of you fell asleep or something. You're situated between his arm and his side on his couch, with his hand in the small of your back, and your arm thrown over his chest. He had his other arm bent behind his head as some sort of makeshift pillow, and you could hear his heart beat faintly from where your head is laying on his chest.

It took a little bit, but you think you were able to pinpoint what you were feeling. You felt safe. You felt like, at least for as long as you were in his arms, nothing would get to you. You felt like you could forget about having to hide yourself from your parents, or having to skirt around bullies at school, and hell, you felt like even _God_ couldn't get to you. (You're an atheist, but, being raised religious has its side effects, oh, what with the internalized homophobia and all.)

You'd gotten lost in your thoughts at some point, because you find yourself being dragged out of them by Josh. “Hey, Tyler? Can I ask something?”

“You just did.”

“Shut up, and answer my question you little smart ass.”

You giggle. “Alright, alright. Hit me.”

“Do you want to try like...” He pauses for a few moments, and you get both a little excited and a little scared until he continues, “...dating? Being boyfriends? Hanging out but also kissing and hugging and cuddling sometimes? Y'know, the whole shebang and all.”

You know the answer, but it takes a few moments for you to actually say it. “I'd like that.”

 

A few hours later, after changing either of your Facebook relationship statuses, the two of you make out for the second time. It's a little different this time, especially considering the two of you aren't in some stranger's coat closet. You're laying on top of him, and Josh's hands are wandering a little more than last time, running up and down your back and sides. He doesn't go any further down than your hips, and you're a little thankful. You're glad you're not feeling pressured, and that he isn't trying anything.

 

When he brings you home, he walks you to your door, and after making sure no one was looking, and that the two of you wouldn't be caught, he plants another gentle kiss onto your lips, saying, “I hope you had a good time.”

“Dude, I have a hot boyfriend. Of _course_ I had a good time.”

 

Monday is pretty much hell. Apparently, it only took the weekend for the news of you being gay to spread like wild fire throughout the school. People were staring, and whispering, and some people even had the gall to say some pretty cruel things right to your face.

By Tuesday, some of the popular guys are knocking into you in the hall, and would either knock your books/notebooks out of your hands in the process, or basically propel you at a wall since you weighed about two pounds and even an ounce of outside pressure could catapult your gay ass into orbit.

Wednesday is when Brendon and Pete start to notice, causing them to walk you to your classes whenever they could. They could called a slew of things just for associating with you, but, thankfully, both of them were pretty secure with their masculinity and sexuality, and pretty much ignored all of the comments.

On Thursday, some guy who probably has fifty pounds on you ea sy shoves you into a wall. It wouldn't have been a big deal if it hadn't have been your face that had collided with the wall. You thank the fucking _lord_ you didn't have any of your botebooks or textbooks in your hands as you make your way to one of the bathrooms. You would've gone to the principal, but you were terrified that he'd call home, and out you to your parents.

When you're in the bathroom, and once you have some paper towels over your nose, you pull your phone out and text Brendon.

 

 **Tyler:** where are you at right now

 **Brendon:** west wing in the main building why

 **Tyler:** kinda got shoved into a wall and my nose is bleeding lol

 **Tyler:** can you go to my locker and get my jacket and my wallet? my locker is 427 and my combo is 5-25-37

 **Tyler:** im in the boys bathroom in the art building btw

 **Brendon:** dude no problem do u need anything else

 **Tyler:** no but I would appreciate if u would drive me to subway or smth bc I kinda want a sandwich

 **Brendon:** can you buy me one

 **Tyler:** yeah

 **Brendon:** cool see you in like five minutes

 

You're sitting on one of the sinks with your phone in your hand when Brendon walks in. You nose had stopped bleeding at that point, but your face is starting to bruise up a little, and you're pretty annoyed at that. “Shit, dude, you must've been shoved pretty hard.”

“I don't think I was, considering I weigh about two pounds.”

“Yeah, true.” Brendon frowns before walking over to look at your nose. “I don't think you broke your nose. It'll probably be really fuckin' sore for a few days, though. Pete's broken his nose enough that I'd know a broken nose when I saw it.”

“How…?”

“He's Pete. He totaled his car, yet only got away with whiplash. Don't question it.”

“Ah.” You slide off of the sink at that, and take your jacket and wallet from Brendon, before leading the way out of the bathroom. Brendon sticks close, and glares at anyone who even looks at you wrong, as if to say, _“I will beat you up if you even take a step near him.”_

Brendon isn't really that intimidating, if you're honest. He's about the same height as you are, give or take, and isn't overly muscular. He is mouthy, though, and could destroy a fly's self confidence in a matter of seconds, so you figure people value their self confidence over their need to pick on you. (Pete isn't intimidating either, though, but he can throw a wicked punch.)

 

Your birthday is a week and two days after you get shoved into the wall. Legally, you're an adult, and you're technically free from whatever grasp your parents have (had) on your life. You have a birthday party, and your friend group is invited. Josh, Brendon, Pete, Patrick, and Ashley all show up, each of them bearing gifts. It's kind of weird having friends bring you actual gifts, but you aren't complaining.

Your parents take your siblings and step out for a few hours, giving you and your friends some time to exchange gifts and to hang out a little bit. As a joke, Brendon had gotten you a box of condoms, and Pete had pitched in with a bottle of 'warming lube.' You were flustered, and sputtering, trying to formulate some sort of response, when Josh just says, “Huh, these look fun,” before taking the two gifts out of your hands and wrapping them in his jacket. He gets a mortified look and a kick in the shin from you, while the other four in the room laugh until they're crying.

Ashley had gotten you a pride flag, and you point out that you wouldn't have any use for it, given that you're living in a house full of homophobes. (You're not too sure about Madison, but you're not getting your hopes up.)

Patrick said he was going to be the grandpa of the group as he handed you a sloppily wrapped present. You didn't get what he had meant until you had seen that he'd gotten you a pack of tube socks. You'd laughed and hugged him, saying, “Thanks. I was running low.”

Josh has to run out to his car to get you his presents, since they were apparently pretty gay, and he didn't want to risk your parents seeing them. He comes back inside with a ridiculously large bouquet of pink, red, and white roses, which makes you laugh. Everyone else lets out a ridiculously loud, and drawn out, “Aw,” at the bouquet.

(Josh also has a corny birthday card with a heartfelt note that totally doesn't make you tear up, along with a jacket he thought would look cool on you. You planned to wear that jacket every day of your god damn life.)

You have the bouquet in your hands, and Josh is leaning down to kiss you on the lips when you hear the signature sound of Brendon's fucking Polaroid camera going off. As usual, the first picture he'd taken was the one where the two of you weren't expecting it, and the second picture both of you were giving the camera a glassy, dead-eyed stare. (You take the first picture, and Josh takes the second.)

 

After you'd found a vase for the bouquet, which you planned on telling your parents Ashley had gotten for you, the six of you pile into Brendon's car, and end up at Pete's house since, one, his parents weren't home, and two, his living room had enough space for everyone to sit comfortably while watching shitty romantic comedies on Netflix.

You end up falling asleep in the middle of the second movie, and wake up curled into Josh's side. In the past two and a half months, you'd been trained to wake up as soon as you heard the shutter of a Polaroid camera going off, thanks to Brendon and his ornery nature.

At some point, you'd asked Brendon why he took so many pictures of you and Josh together, and all he'd said had just been, “The two of you are a cute couple. Added, you always look, like, really happy whenever you're with him, and it's one of those things that should be photographed, you know?” That answer had satisfied you, and stopped you from protesting as much afterward.

Brendon had only taken one picture that time, and you end up keeping it as well.

 

At midnight, you're at Josh's apartment, with intentions to spend the night. Once you enter the apartment, you let out a sigh of relief, which catches you off guard just a bit, since you didn't realize you were feeling stressed. It's kind of weird, but Josh's apartment is like a second home. You kick your shoes off at the door, and drape the jacket he'd bought you over one of his dining chairs before making your way into the kitchen. “I'm taking a bottle of water!”

“Alright!” Comes his response from somewhere else in the apartment. (You figure he's in his room changing his clothes. You'd spend just about the whole damn night watching him tug and itch at the collar of the shirt he'd had on, and you were so painfully close to just ripping it off of him and making him change at Pete's house.)

You're still in the kitchen, sipping from the aforementioned bottle of water and scrolling through your Twitter feed, when Josh enters the room. He isn't wearing a shirt, and you just let yourself blatantly stare at him. “Hey, uh, I forgot to grab this, but here,” he hands you a photo album, and when you open it, all of the Polaroids Brendon had given him were in there. “I was going to wait until Christmas, but, dude, we're like, _really_ cute.”

You flip your phone over, and take the pictures you had stashed in your phone case out to add them to the collection Josh already had. You feel him behind you, with his arms wrapped around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder. You start looking through the photos. The first one, which had been a week after the two of you had met, felt so long ago, even though it really wasn't. “Ty, you look so… different.”

“Probably because I quit giving a shit that I'm gay, and I've accepted that we're all going to die one day, so I might as well get myself some dick while I can.”

Josh makes a soft 'pff' noise, and you can feel his smile against the side of your neck. It tickles a little bit.

You look at the second one next. It's from the day after the first one, and you think Josh had just cracked a super dirty joke, because your face was in your hands, and Josh looked like he was losing his shit. “I can see why Brendon takes pictures. This, uh, this sounds pretty fake-deep, not to mention gay, but whenever I see pictures of myself before meeting you or whatever, I just look so… sad. But, then I look at _these_ ones, and well, I don't look sad, and it's so _weird.”_

Josh nods, and you feel him press a the smallest of kisses to your neck as he asks, “You're the one who asks me this normally, but, why do _you_ like me?”

You think for a minute. “You're nice to me, and you treat me better than anyone else in my life does. You've also been nothing but kind to me since I've met you, and you've been unbelievably patient with me. Added, you listen to me when I'm a sobbing mess, and you don't brush me off, _ever._ I kind of like, really enjoy your presence, and feel like I'm at home when I'm with you, and if that isn't gay, then, well, I don't know what is.”

You turn around to face Josh, and it takes him about half a second to move his head forward enough to kiss you. You kiss him back. You're still pretty horrible at kissing, but he doesn't seem to care, and you just try not to think about it. The kiss deepens, and you don't think it's intentional, but he's slowly pressing himself, and his hips, closer to you, and you're _definitely_ not complaining. (You're seventeen, wait, no, _eighteen,_ and horny, what can you say?) You run your hands through his brown hair, which is getting a little too long and kind of giving you flashbacks to Brendon's emo phase.

It doesn't take long for you to end up straddling him in his room, and for him to be breaking the kiss to say, “Stop me if I go too far,” before he's running calloused hands up your shirt to eventually pull it off.

You break the kiss again for a few seconds to say, “You're definitely fine right now, Josh.” It takes even less time for you to be craving some sort of friction, so you experimentally roll your hips down, and you all but come in your pants at the provocative noise Josh lets out.

Things escalate pretty quickly, and long story short, you get a fucking _ethereal_ blow job. Given that you haven't had any sexual experiences before this, though, you figure pretty much any blow job would've been pretty amazing to you, but common sense and intuition tell you that this one was  _something._ (You try to return the favor, but after realizing you had no clue about what the hell you were doing, you opted for a sloppy hand job.) (You apologize, but Josh just says, “Do you really think I'm the kind of guy to complain about getting a hand-job?”) (“How was I supposed to know?”) (Insert Josh giving you a pointed look, as he just blinks.)

 

 

The next morning, you're woken up to Josh kissing your neck, and saying, “Dude, wake up. I wanna make you breakfast.”

You grunt at him, and open your eyes. You blink profusely, trying to adjust to the sudden bright light. Once your eyes are adjusted, you look over to him. He looks super sleepy, and feels warm against your side. His eyes are almost gold in the sunlight that's filtering through his curtains, and he's looking up at you with this look that's just so… _loving._

“Breakfast?”

“Mhm.” He kisses the spot between your jaw and your ear this time. _He's so sweet._

“What d'you got?”

“Eggs, cereal,” he yawns, “sausage,” then he's pressing his morning wood into your thigh.

You jerk your leg to the side out of alarm, effectively getting him in the balls, and causing him to roll away with his hands covering his dick, while he groans in pain. “Jesus, I was kidding, _fuck._ ”

“You _scared_ me, you cheeky prick.”

“Fuck, that's the last time I try to cop a hand-job.”

 

Half an hour later, he's in the kitchen, cooking _real_ sausage, and not trying to extort you for hand-jobs. You're sitting at his rickety little dining table, with your chin resting in your arms as you watch him cook. “Did you really have to give me hickeys?”

“Yes. I had to mark my territory. I am the alpha male.”

“ _I'm_ the alpha male in this relationship.” You squint at him as he turns around, and gives you one of those _'really'_ looks.

“You sure about that, tiger? Are you _sure?”_

“Definitely. I am _so_ an alpha male.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don't wear a turtleneck.”

“Why not?”

He scoffs. “Seriously? That is _literally_ the biggest giveaway.”

“My parents are going to question me, dude.”

“Tell them you have a girlfriend?”

“'Oh, is it that Ashley girl? Or what about Jenna? Weren't you dating her when you were like fourteen?'” You mimic your mother, hopefully in the best effeminate voice you can muster.

Josh snorts. “Ask Ashley if she'll be your beard?”

“No. My parents are going to think I'm banging her if I say she's my girlfriend.”

“They'll think you're banging someone anyways, dude.”

“Why can't I just come out? _Ugh.”_

 

When the two of you are sitting on the couch in the living room, eating, he informs you that he'd added your collection of Polaroids to the photo album. “It's not that I'm not appreciative, because I am, but do you think you could keep it here? I really like all of those photos, and I really don't want to risk my parents finding them and taking them.”

“Dude, don't worry about it.” He doesn't seem even the slightest bit dejected, and you're relieved. You're glad his feelings didn't get hurt. He's the one person in the world you genuinely don't want to hurt.

 

On Monday afternoon, you're sitting in Brendon's car, obviously, with Brendon, as well as Pete, trying not to freeze your ass off. You'd done a good job at covering up the hickeys so far with button-up shirts and strategically placed jacket hoods, but your slip up comes when you reach a hand up to itch your neck. Brendon is _immediately_ on that shit. “Tyler, did Josh give you a hickey?”

As soon as he says that, Pete's head is poking into the front seat from his place behind you, and he's look at your neck. He touches one of the hickeys, and you bat his hand away. “Quit that. Look, we were making out, and he got carried away, and due to being a hormonal teenager, I didn't notice he gave me the hickeys until yesterday morning.”

“ _Wait—_ hickeys? Plural?”

 _Fuck._ “…No?”

“Bullshit. Where else?”

“...Collarbones.”

“You're lying.” Brendon looks as if he's your mother. He just _knows_ when you're lying.

“…And my chest.”

He squints. “Where else?”

“...Seriously? Neck, collarbones, and chest isn't enough for you?”

“No. You have more, and I know it. I know a hickey-look when I see one, dude.” Pete has his neck craned in an awkward position to stare you down, and you groan.

“Thighs.”

Now at _that_ they both get shit-eating looks, and start patting you on the back, and congratulating you. The car falls silent after that, and you start counting in your head the seconds until one of them eventually asks, “Did you fuck him?” It took forty-two seconds, and it was Pete that had asked.

“No, Pete, I did not have sex with him.”

 

The next big event in both your life and your relationship with Josh happens on Christmas. Your parents had thrown a very formal, and modest, Christmas party, which meant you'd been allowed to invite one friend over, so, naturally, you'd invited Josh. Your parents, your other relatives, your siblings, and your parents friends all liked Josh, and you were glad. _Maybe it'll be easier for them to process it when I come out and tell them he's my boyfriend._

Around ten, the party is over, and your parents have sent you and your siblings, plus Josh, up to bed. (They didn't realize that by sending the two of you 'to bed,' they were basically giving either of you permission to screw around.)

You like Josh. Obviously. He treats you like royalty, and he makes you feel flattered almost constantly. None of his compliments feel forced, neither do any of the affection or any of the gestures. He's very _genuine_ and, surprisingly, traditional. He's all for politely holding your hand in public, and holding open doors along with other chivalrous things. It's probably just common courtesy, though.

None of the affection you give him, nor the gestures you direct at him feel forced from your end either. You never really considered yourself an affectionate person, but of course, with Josh, you are. You're not big on physical contact with people, including your family, but you are with _Josh._ It's probably to be expected, given that he's your boyfriend, and you love him, but it still strikes you as odd.

In the month and a half, almost two months, that you'd been dating Josh, you'd figured out pretty quickly that he's a _tease._ There'd been a few times you'd gotten to the point that you'd pretty much have to _beg_ him to get you off. He seems like a cupcake on the surface, but once he's the deciding factor in whether or not you're going to get off, he turns into a fucking demon.

Things start off slow at first. He's sitting up on your bed, leaning against the wall, and you're in his lap, kissing him, sweet and slow. Soon, shirts are off, then pants, and eventually he's sitting on your thighs, reaching over the side of your bed to get his wallet from his pants. “Josh, what are you doing?” You ask as he rifles through his wallet.

After pulling out a condom and a small packet of lube, he's answering you by saying, “I like to be prepared.”

You laugh at him. He's such a—“Nerd.” Everyone thinks sex is going to be all hot and perfect, and this may be your first time actually _having_ sex, but you instantly know it isn't always hot, and it's _definitely_ not perfect. You're glad you're able to laugh about it with, and at, Josh, and you're glad that he doesn't get mad about it. Hell, he's laughing _with_ you.

He probably asks you about a thousand times if you're sure, and you get it, he doesn't want to do anything that you don't want to do, like, you  _really_ get it, but you've _told him,_ and you're getting frustrated.

After asking another hundred times, give or take, he's riding you, with his hands planted firmly on your chest, and you have your own hands gripping his hips (and eventually his ass) hard enough that you'll be surprised if he doesn't have bruises. He proving, once again, that he's a fucking tease, and you pretty much have to bite your damn thumb off to keep quiet, because your parents are literally across the hall, and Josh is pretty much making it his mission to make sure the two of you are caught.

 

From Christmas and through January, you grow more distant from your parents and family. It's not intentional, but as time goes on, you keep having to hide more and more of yourself from them, and it's easier to do that if you're not around. Honestly, you'd been growing more distant since September, since you'd gone to that first meeting. You still go, but you've missed a few here and there. Mostly it's just your friend group that shows up, but sometimes a pair of lesbians (one of which is Jenna, which _really_ fucking surprises you) and Ryan rear their heads. (You don't know when it happened, or what happened, but Brendon fucking _hates_ Ryan.)

Your parents have quit getting onto you for skipping church, or for staying at friends' houses so much. They're still strict and all, but you think they're seeing that they can't hang onto you forever, and that you've got to get out on your own at some point. Either that, or they know something is up, and they either don't know how to bring it up, or they're pretending nothing is up at all. You're thinking it's more of the latter choice.

You spend most of your weekdays at Brendon and Pete's houses, and almost all of your weekends are spent at Josh's apartment. (Sometimes you go over to Josh's apartment on weekdays, but not very often, since you like to get sleep, and you can't do that since he has to get you over to Brendon's house by six so he can get to work on time and you can get to school.)

You prefer Brendon's house on the weekdays, mostly since he lives super close to school, and he doesn't have people dropping in randomly, save for Pete. (Pete has six friends that drop in, and while you like most of them, a few of them are just fucking _insufferable.)_ Sometimes you end up at Pete's anyways, though, because as much as Brendon's parents love you, they have their limits.

 

February kind of just sucks in general. The hazing/bullying gets worse, and there's only so much Brendon and Pete can do. Josh takes you out to lunch when he can, since he knows it gives you at least half an hour of a break. (You feel kind of guilty that he goes out of his way like that, but he just says that he loves you whenever you ask him why he's so adamant on getting you lunch whenever he can.) You really need to go to a teacher, or a counselor, or _somebody,_ but you're still afraid of being outed.

Brendon and Pete both end up outing themselves to the school, because, essentially, they'd told you that they were tired of you getting picked on for something they could be picked on for as well, and that they were just tired of hiding anyways. They start getting picked on too, but still not to the extent that you are. It's just weird. Why is it so bad for you, and not for them?

You think that maybe it's because you're not as confident, or attractive, or maybe it's because you're bad at confrontation. You're at peace with yourself and all, as much as you can be at this point at least, but you're still not good at telling people off or defending yourself. All you really know how to do is cling to Brendon and Pete for dear life and pray no one tries to get physical with you.

Of course, they do, once in a while. The most you've had happen is someone throwing a punch, which, by the way, you manage to dodge. The guy's fist had hit the wall, and he broke like three of his fingers, so he'd left you alone after that. You've also had a few of the 'jocks' threaten to do unspeakable, and quite frankly, terrifying things to you, and it just scared you. You made sure never to be alone in one place for too long.

 

The second time someone throws a punch, it actually lands on your face.

You'd been standing in front of the school on the first Friday afternoon of February, waiting for Josh to pick you up when it'd happened. You'd just been looking at your phone, waiting for a text, when one of the 'jocks' (honestly, for lack of a better term) had came sauntering up to you.

You keep your phone in your hand, with Josh's contact pulled up, and kept your eyes glued to the guy. He started talking to you, as if he wanted a normal conversation, but it quickly turned sour. He'd asked about what it was like to be gay, and although suspicious, you answered him on the offhand chance he was genuinely interested. “It's kind of just normal, I guess. It felt weird when I first realized it and stuff, but I'm cool with it now. I'm not constantly thinking about boys. It's literally just a preference, you know?”

He'd asked a few more things, and you'd just answered accordingly, and _then_ he drops the bomb. “So, what, do you take it up the ass or something?”

You figured you could've found a better response other than dryly saying, “I'm versatile,” before rolling your eyes and giving him a disgusted look. He didn't like that response, obviously, so he reeled back and socked you one right in the jaw. “Jesus, what the fuck, dude?!” You had a hand on your jaw, trying to absorb the shock, and to hopefully defend yourself.

Sadly, the gods are against you, as seen by the two other people from his posse that pretty much just materialize out of nowhere. Everything unfolds as follows: you make another snide remark, get socked in the face again, you punch the guy back, one of his friends holds you back, the guy, and his other friend, punch you in the face, and kick you a few more times, before both Josh _and_ Patrick show up.

Josh is on the guy who was hitting you first in about half a second flat, and Patrick has a look that scary enough to curdle milk on sight, which, thankfully, makes the two overly large juniors get the hell out of dodge. The first guy manages to get away from Josh, who's being held back by both you and Patrick. “Get out of here, you little prick!”

For a dude who weighs about a hundred and fifty pounds, and isn't overly muscular either, Josh is _really_ hard to hold back when he's mad. You and Patrick both lack any sort of muscle tone, and it takes everything in either of you to stop him from pretty much snapping the guy's neck.

Eventually, he does give up, and he promises not to go after the guy, so cautiously, you and Patrick let him go. Josh is seething, and he's red in the face, which is something you hadn't seen before. His hands are shaking as he hands your backpack to Patrick, and he grips your arm a little too tight as he walks you to his car.

 

You shift uncomfortably on the ride to Josh's apartment. You don't question why he has Patrick with him either. (You're tempted to text Patrick, but you decide to wait until you're not a foot away from Josh.) Josh's jaw is set, and he has a pretty scary frown on his face. He's gripping the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles are white, and you're pretty sure he's speeding at least a little bit.

Aside from Josh being livid, you're sore as hell. Your lip is split, and you already have bruises littering most of your face. Your ribs and your stomach are both sore as well, and you're surprised none of them went in for a nut shot. Maybe it's a cardinal rule: Don't kick another dude in the nuts, or karma is going to get you.

 

Josh doesn't speak one word back at his apartment, and it makes your skin crawl, especially when he's dicking around, getting you Advil and water, while trying to find you a change of clothes. (You kept leaving things at his apartment on accident, so you estimated that about half of your wardrobe was already there anyways.)

When Josh goes into his bedroom, and after you'd popped a few Advil, Patrick mouths, “Oh my god,” then pulls his phone out to text you.

 

 **Patrick:** Okay I've seen him mad a few times but never _this_ mad

 **Tyler:** same?? omg ive seen him get mad at stuff on the news or stuff from his family sometimes but this is just a fucking first

 **Patrick:** fuck he hasn't even asked if you're alright yet like this is super scary

 **Tyler:** normally he's up my ass about whether or not im alright but he went from his shouty stage of angry to his silent im not talking to ANYONE stage

 **Patrick:** even his shouty stage is hard to get to

 **Tyler:** my point exactly

 **Tyler:** why were you even with him anyways

 **Patrick:** needed a ride from school, then to group because I dont have the money for gas + my parents arent home, pete's busy with family stuff, and brendon isn't answering

 **Patrick:** also brendon's car has been smelling like cheese?

 **Tyler:** pete wiped nacho cheese under one of the seats and brendon's still trying to figure it out

 **Patrick:** oh my god

 

After that, a shirt and a pair of sweatpants are pretty much slammed onto the couch next to you. It scares you, and makes you say, “Christ, Josh! Give me some warning!” before actually taking the clothes and leaving to get changed. Josh leaves for about ten minutes to drive Patrick home again, and he's pretty much calmed down by the time he's back.

You were slouched down on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, flipping through the TV channels, trying to find _something,_ when Josh returns. He takes his jacket off, then walks over to the couch to lay down with his head in your lap to look up at you. He has another one of those indecipherable looks on his face, and honestly, there aren't a whole lot of those left at this point, so you ask, “What?”

“I love you.”

You run your right hand through his hair. “Alright? We've established this on multiple occasions, dude. I love you too, though.”

“I mean that I'm like… _in love_ with you.”

 _Oh. Oops._ “Would it be underwhelming if I just said 'ditto?'”

He grins, dumbly, and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You just give him another equally dumb grin in response before nodding, and letting him pull you down into a kiss.

 

Around nine, you need an ice pack for one of your eyes, and Josh just so happens to be fresh out of sandwich baggies to hold ice in, and ice packs in general, so you follow him to the floor below to ask the guy who lives below him if he had any ice packs or sandwich baggies. You'd met the guy on a few occasions. He's about the same height as his door frame, and he's kind of like Josh in which he's super nice, and also a little pretty.

You and Josh look at each other with raised eyebrows when either of you hear the vague sounds of shouting coming from within the apartment.

See, what you were expecting when the door opened was for the guy, Dylan or something, to be standing there, ready to answer any questions or fulfill any requests. What you _weren't_ expecting was for _Brendon_ to open the door, shirtless and sweating, and looking slightly miffed. Josh slowly crosses his arms, adjusts his stance, and gives Brendon one of those parental, “Would you like to explain yourself?” kind of looks.

Brendon doesn't even pay attention to Josh, though, because he has your face in his hands, and he's examining it. “What the fuck, dude?”

“I got beat up. Look, I'm not even going to ask, but does Dylan or whatever his name is have any sandwich baggies or ice packs?”

“It's Dallon, and, uh, I'll ask.” He's starting to look a little sheepish now, and once he retreats back into the apartment, you're looking at Josh and trying not to laugh.

“Josh, he has a _type._ Tall, pretty, and skinny. That's his type.”

“Oh my god,” he whispers, quietly, trying to suppress a string of giggles, and only managing to do so after Brendon makes another appearance.

“He said he wants it back, but, uh… Look, can we not talk about this?”

“Oh, no, you're never going to hear the end of this.” Normally you probably would've stayed quiet, but this shit was _gold,_ and you had to tell someone.

“Fuck, alright, just—Don't tell my parents. Tell Pete, Patrick, whoever—Just not my parents, alright? They don't need to know I'm getting it on with the thirty four year old divorced father of two that lives below Josh.”

 

When you're on Josh's couch again, holding the ice-pack to your right eye, he's sitting next to you, pressing kisses into your neck, and you're not sure if he's trying to comfort you or fuck you. Neither option would surprise you. “'M sorry about this, Tyler.” His voice is soft and gentle as he mouths those words into your neck.

“You're not the one who decked me, dude. Ugh, shit; what am I going to tell my parents?”

“Tell them someone beat you up?”

“They're the kind of parents who are gonna want to press charges, dude. They won't drop it until I tell them who, and they're going to want to know _why,_ and I can't exactly tell them it's because I'm the resident gay guy at school.”

“Tell them you tripped?”

“Yes, I tripped, and bashed my face in.”

“Smart-ass. How's your head doing?”

“Hurts. I have a headache. I also feel like I have this weird 5'10” mass growing out of my neck… I didn't know punches could do that to you.”

“Are you calling me weird?”

“I sure as hell am not calling you normal.”

“I'm breaking up with you.”

“No you're not. You love me.”

He sighs. “You got me there.” You feel his hand on your thigh and, yup, he's trying to fuck you. Either that or he has a very weird sense of how to comfort someone.

 

On Valentine's day, you're sitting in your government class, trying not to fall asleep when it happens. _The thing._ One of the office aides had come into the room carrying an obnoxious bouquet of flowers, balloons containing cheesy text, and a teddy bear holding a hoard that said, “I love you.” The aide had a box of chocolates under his arm, too, and you figure it's for one of the girls in the room, since a few of them perk up. You just roll your eyes.

The aide hands a slip of paper to your teacher, and your teacher looks at _you,_ then motions the aide towards your desk. _Oh, you motherfucker._ Pete and Brendon, who are on either side of you, are starting up a chant of, “Tyler, Tyler!” and you're slowly caving in on yourself, trying to disappear. _Josh, you're fucking dead._

There's a card attached to the package. You were expecting there to be something deep, sentimental, and sappy, but instead, all you're faced with is: 'I love you. No homo.'

 

When you get home, your mother goes on and on about how _cute_ it is that a girl had gotten that for you. “It's so nice to see all of you breaking gender roles.” _Bullshit, mom. Bullshit._

“Uh, yeah. I guess.” You didn't really comment on it in favor of getting ready for your date with Josh. He was picking you up, and had plans to take you to at least an Olive Garden. If your parents questioned it, you planned to tell them that the two of you were going on a double date and that you were getting picked up first, _not_ that he's your sappy as hell boyfriend who treats you like God's gift to the fucking earth.

You're standing in front of the mirror in your room, adjusting the cuffs on your shirt, when your mother pokes her head into your room. “Um, Tyler? One of your friends is here...” She sounds like she's either about to rip you a new asshole, or she's concerned, and you honestly can't tell.

 _Josh really couldn't wait? He knows how my parents are, and he knows full well they're going to question th- oh. Oops. It's Patrick. And he's crying. Great._ Patrick's awkwardly standing next to the front door by the coat rack, trying to stifle his own tears. “Uh—are you—are you alright?”

He wipes at his eyes and shakes his head.

“Oh, alright. Uh, you've been here before so, uh, go in my room I guess? I'll—I'll get you water.” He nods and heads to your bedroom. In the kitchen, you fill up a glass with ice and water, then pull your phone out to text Josh.

You mother comes into the kitchen, and asks, “Is he alright?”

“He just shook his head, so I don't know. Hasn't told me why.”

“Are you going to blow your date off for this?” She looks a little sad, and you really, _really_ want to just tell her. “I hope she isn't upset.”

You just casually say, “He probably won't be,” as you type a text out to Josh.

 

 **Tyler:** patricks at my house crying and I also kind of just outed myself but idk if my mom picked up on it lol

 

She doesn't seem to hear your slip-up. “Well, it's good that she seems to be understanding.”

“Yep.”

 

 **Tyler:** nope she didnt pick up on it

 **Josh:** okay other than you being a dumb ass is patrick alright

 **Tyler:** I dont know? He didnt say what happened but hes in my room and im getting him water

 **Josh:** can I still come over :(

 **Tyler:** obviously?? its valentines day dude patrick crying or not we're at least hanging out today

 

“Uh, hey, Mom? Can Josh come over? He knows Patrick better than I do, so...”

“Oh, of course, Honey. Do you guys want something to eat? Sandwiches?”

“Sure. Uh, thanks.” _Yep. I'm definitely uncomfortable now._ You go back up tot your room with the water in hand for Patrick. Once he has it, he takes a sip, but doesn't say anything, so you end up cracking. “What happened?”

“Fucking _Pete.”_

 _Oh god._ “What did he do?” Patrick rarely talked to you for purposes other than plan making, or just casually via text, so having the dude show up at your house _crying?_ Yeah, that's definitely a first.

 

 **Tyler:** pete did something I guess but patrick wotn tell me what hes just crying

 **Tyler:** pete mustve done something fucked up

 **Josh:** ugh im like ten minutes away btw

 

 **Brendon:** I swear to god Pete is _dead_

 **Tyler:** WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO PATRICKS AT MY HOUSE CRYING AND HE WONT TELL ME

 **Brendon** : oh my god just let patrick tell you I dont want to ruin the 'surprise'

 **Tyler** : you're the worst, just so you know :)

 

 **Tyler** : brendon just texted me and he wont tell me either I swear to god its like im in some weird gay days of our lives special

 **Josh** : yall are wild

 **Tyler** : okay mister brownie batter

 **Josh** : that was four months ago fuck off

 **Tyler** : no

 

“Is Josh coming over?” Patrick's laying down on your bed now with his face buried in your pillows, while you awkwardly sit at his feet, watching your phone like a hawk.

“It's kind of a given, dude.”

“Can I just wait until he gets here? Because, I don't want to explain it more than once.”

 

 **Tyler** : I dont know what you did but it must've been fucking evil.

 **Pete** : mind your own fucking business, tyler

 **Pete** : this doesnt concern you

 **Tyler** : actually it DOES concern me since patrick showed up at my house crying :)

 **Tyler** : im supposed to go on a date with my boyfriend tonight but instead im consoling yours because you did something fucked up

 **Tyler** : tuck your tail and apologize or something

 **Pete** : sorry

 **Tyler** : to patrick, I mean

 

Josh arrives pretty quickly after that, and once he's settled, Patrick starts talking. “Okay, Pete's apparently been dating another guy for at least three months now, and, you know, if it was just a _one time_ thing, I would've been kind of okay with it, because shit happens, you know? He's in _love,_ though. He's fucking in love with some other guy.”

 

 **Tyler** : pete is fucking dead im going to shoot him

 **Brendon** : patrick tell you

 **Tyler** : yes and im fucking pissed off at pete now

 

“Or he thinks he is, at least. He told me a few hours ago. Like, who the fuck does this shit on Valentine's day?” Patrick kicks a shoe off, and it hits the wall on the other side of your room, and it's followed by his other shoe pretty soon after. “We've been together since just before we were sophomores, and I thought _we_ were in love, but apparently not.”

“Do you know who?”

  
“He goes to your school. I think he's either a freshman or a sophomore, I don't know. Probably a sophomore. Josh probably knew his brother. What gets me is that this kid is _nice._ I want to hate him, I do, but he's _nice._ He sent me a message on Facebook, and explained that he didn't know what was going on. I'm so _mad_ at Pete.” Another wave of tears and sobs starts up, and Patrick attaches himself to Josh. Josh looks up at you, probably wondering what the hell to do, and you just shrug.

 

 **Tyler:** I dont know what to tell patrick? I want to be comforting but I also dont want to feed him a load of crap

 **Brendon:** tell him pete's a dick and that I just drove pete home because I literally cant look at him right now. Who the fuck does this? Ive known pete for a long time but this is just. this is new.

 **Brendon:** im picking the three of you up I have a bottle of vodka and we are getting drunk

 **Tyler:** are you SURE that's a good idea. absolutely SURE.

 **Brendon:** no but we're eighteen so who gives a shit amiright. also josh is with us so I mean

 **Tyler:** _i'm_ eighteen you're still seventeen also

 **Tyler:** he isn't old enough to drink yet

 

The four of you end up at Josh's apartment. Josh is frazzled, and he doesn't know what to do. You're a little shocked, and pretty angry with Pete. Brendon's already busted out the bottle of vodka as soon as he sets foot in Josh's apartment, and Patrick's just on the couch, curled up, and still crying. Brendon goes to grab a glass to pour vodka in, and Josh is immediately on him. “You are _not_ drinking vodka from a cup. Go ask Dallon if he has any shot glasses.”

Brendon grumbles but leaves to go to the apartment below. Patrick sits up, and asks, “Who's Dallon?”

Josh sits down on the couch next to Patrick, and you sit on the other side of him. “The guy who lives below me. Brendon's been either dating him or fucking him for a while.”

Brendon comes back a few minutes later with four shot glasses, and looking the slightest bit flustered. “Dallon said he'd drive us home later.”

“I'm probably going to stay here,” You say before you're being handed a shot glass. You don't drink it, and you're a little glad after seeing what happened as Brendon and Patrick slipped further and further into drunken madness. Patrick was getting shouty, and _preachy,_ and was talking so much shit about Pete that you were honestly blindsided. Eventually Josh walks them down to Dallon's apartment, and tells Dallon to take them home.

 

At midnight, you're leaning on Josh's shoulder, watching corny movies with him on Netflix, when you feel his hand on your leg. He starts moving it up and down your thigh, and you're frustrated because he _knows_ that you hate when he does this. You _hate_ how he teases you. Though, it does make for some spectacular sex, if you're honest.

Eventually, he has a hand over your growing erection, and you're trying to resist giving into the temptation of rutting up into his hand. When you look over to him, he's on his fucking _phone,_ scrolling through his Facebook feed, while pretty much giving you a hand-job through your slacks.

“You're a fucking asshole.”

He shrugs, and pushes his palm against you with a little more pressure than beforehand. All you can do is whine, and you _know_ he's just soaking it up. “Josh, come _on.”_

His phone screen goes off, then he's on his knees in front of the couch, between your legs, looking you dead in the eye as he unbuckles your belt and unzips your slacks. You get to work on unbuttoning your shirt, figuring you might as well since it's just going to come off eventually anyways.

What happens next looks like a scene out of some porno. You don't know what Josh had to do to get rid of his gag reflex, or if he even had one in the first place, but you're glad it's gone, because, holy shit, he's like a deep-throat _master._ It's as if the gods looked upon him, and said, “This one will be the God of Blow Jobs.”

You're _just_ on the _verge_ of coming when he pulls away from you. You let out a frustrated little yelp at him, and he gives you one of the worst shit-eating looks he's _ever_ given you. You manage to calm down the slightest bit before you say, “You must be on one _hell_ of a power trip right now.”

“It's Valentine's Day, what can I say?”

You kick your boxers and pants the rest of the way off. “How about instead of _saying_ something _,_ you _do_ something.”

The look he gets is pretty much saying _'You're on,_ _fucker._ _'_

You end up essentially getting your brains fucked out, and you're surprised no one called the cops for noise complaints. You've never really been vocal in bed, or so you thought.

 

You have to wake up a few hours later, which _sucks,_ because usually after you and Josh fuck, you sleep in because you're almost always _exhausted._ You can't do that today, though, since you have school, and you don't want your parents to get suspicious if you ask to stay home. When you shower, you give Josh a disappointed look because, really? _Hick_ _ey_ _s?_ There's a galaxy of them littering your chest and your neck, and you _know_ you're never going to live it down at school, and you might even end up getting in trouble whenever you get home.

 

(You apparently got a text from Brendon at some point, telling you to 'shuft thue fkuc usp.')

 

Before you and Josh leave his apartment, you call Brendon's phone.

_“Fuck… Hello?”_

“Hey, buddy. Are you at home?” You're looking at Josh while you're talking, trying not to laugh at Brendon's hangover.

_“Ugh… No. I'm still at Dallon's apartment. He took Patrick home, but I passed out before he could take me home.”_

“Alright, well, get dressed or whatever because Josh _was_ going to take me to your house, but you're not there.”

You and Josh stand outside of Dallon's apartment for about ten minutes before Brendon comes stumbling out, reeking of alcohol, with Dallon looking dead tired and a little pissed off behind him. The older man looks at Josh, and simply says, “The next time he gets drunk, he's _your_ problem.”

Josh just shrugs and ushers Brendon along until the three of you are at his car. You'd been around Brendon when he's drunk before, obviously, and you really sympathized with the other man. Brendon was generally really laid back, and not _that_ obnoxious, but if you got alcohol in him everything you could even possibly find annoying about him would increase tenfold, at _least._

 

At school, you and Brendon avoid Pete like the plague. You hate to pick sides, but, honestly, Pete's in the wrong, and what he did was so _shitty._ You weren't good friends with Patrick, but the poor little dude is _heart broken,_ and it's pretty much Pete's fault.

When lunch rolls around, you sit in one of the court yards with Brendon, bullshitting, when this scrawny, dweeby, meek looking kid walks up to the two of you. “Uh, are the two of you Pete's friends?”

“Not at the moment, but I mean, I _guess.”_

“Do you guys know Patrick? His boyfriend or whatever?”

You look at Brendon with raised eyebrows, and you see the realization dawning on him. “Are you the guy Pete's been fucking around with?”

“I guess, yeah. Uh, I don't—I don't know what I'm trying to get at here, or why I'm even telling you guys this, but I'm breaking it off with Pete. I like him and all, but if he cheats on the guy he's been dating for three years, then I don't want to think about that happening to me, because it's only been a few months.”

You give the kid a slight look of pity. “Dude, I'm sorry you got thrown into the middle of this. You seem like a decent guy. Pete's such a douchebag sometimes. Uh, I'm Tyler, he's Brendon.” You point to Brendon, and the kid nods.

“Mikey. That's my name. Obviously.” He's so _awkward,_ and looks like he's about to implode, and you want to give the little dude a hug. “Anyways, I kind of have to go, because my brother is in town for whatever reason, and is picking me up. I'll see you guys around?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Brendon looks a little shocked, but he waves when the guy gives the two of you a shy smile before walking off. Brendon looks at you once the kid is out of earshot. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

“Dunno. That kid is smart, though. Not getting tied up in Pete's little shitstorm.”

 

When school gets out, you go home for about twenty minutes, which is long enough for you to grab your other back pack, and a change of clothes before you slip out again to go to Patrick's house with Brendon. You manage to skirt past your father on your way back out. He just asks you where you think you're going, and you just say you're going to a friend's house, and you leave before he can do anything about it.

Brendon's parked across the street, and you toss your things into his back seat before climbing into the passenger's seat next to Brendon. “Patrick's like, really fucking bitter, by the way. I just got off the phone with him, and he is _livid._ Don't be surprised if he's yelling or something.”

“I've been around you when you're angry. I think I'll live.”

Brendon gives you a dirty look.

 

You gape at Patrick's house. You knew he was living comfortably, but you didn't think he lived in a _mansion._ Okay, not a mansion, but his house was huge compared to yours, and yours was pretty big anyways. Patrick answers the door in sweat shorts and an argyle sweater, which makes you cringe. “It's laundry day, shut up.”

Brendon looks like he wants to say something, but he thinks better of it.

“Uh, my friend, Joe, he came over without warning. He has pizza and chocolate, so he's cool. You guys should like him. He knows I'm not straight and shit, so we're good.” You nod, and you follow him up to his bedroom with Brendon in tow.

The sleepover is fun. Joe's a nice guy, and he's funny. He's like Brendon in which he can flip you shit at the speed of light, and he's also wicked smart, which you think is cool. You get his number, as does Brendon. You figure you're never going to talk to him, but hey, at least you feel like you have at least a few friends now.

The four of you stay up until two just chatting away, mostly about Pete. Brendon gets into a discussion with Patrick on fashion sense, and you cant help but to laugh at them. They're ridiculous. Brendon's against cliches and all, but, he is _such_ a cliché. He's in drama and choir, he's obsessed with fashion, and you're pretty sure he wants to be a cosmetologist.

You don't participate in the conversation too much. As expected, you end up texting Josh around one in the morning.

 

 **Tyler:** ugh im at patrick's right now and theyre talking about _fashion_

 **Josh:** yeah not like you can relate

 **Tyler:** eat my actual ass

 **Josh:** don't tempt me

 **Tyler:** jesus ur insufferable why do I love you

 **Josh:** I have a great ass, that's why

 **Tyler:** okay true though your ass is honestly the best ass i've ever seen

 **Josh:** dude I have like a wicked boner right now

 **Josh:** like im not being weird or whatever but its like

 **Josh:** “what is it boy? what did u see?” its like this shit is a dog

 **Tyler:** oh my _god_

 

You giggle out loud at this, and everyone looks at you. “Josh has a wicked boner and he's confused about it.” Brendon chokes on his drink, Patrick chokes on air and Joe is pinching the bridge of his nose but grinning nonetheless.

 

Twenty minutes pass before you get another text from Josh.

 

 **Josh:** im breaking up with u cant believe u told patrick and brendon

 **Tyler:** dude I laughed at you and they were all staring at me like I had to explain

 **Josh:** you didnt have to explain how I was confused about a boner oh my god

 **Josh:** brendon literally sent me the definition of an erection

 **Tyler:** hey like you always say: sexual education is important

 **Josh:** I am twenty years old I am a grown ass man

 **Tyler:** shut up ur 12

 **Tyler:** also im tired and today has been long so im gonna go to bed

 **Josh:** alright dude

 **Josh:** I love you

 **Josh:** no homo

 **Josh:** actually full homo but that was pretty gay

 **Tyler:** omg bye ill talk to you tomorrow

 **Tyler:** (I love you too tho dude <3)

 

You roll your eyes at Josh, and plug your phone in before making yourself at home in the guest bedroom of Patrick's house. The bed is comfortable, and you get a pretty good night's sleep. Though, you have to shove Brendon off of you a few times, since he's apparently a cuddler in his sleep.

 

The meeting after the whole situation with Pete is awkward. You literally couldn't wait until eight. Josh, bless his soul, was cutting the meeting off at eight for the first time in forever. Joe had popped up with Patrick, and apparently Joe is bisexual and agender. You're not sure what agender means, but you make a mental note to ask him about it later. It sounds cool, and you're totally up for being educated on things, since you never really got the chance when you were growing up.

Pete ended up leaving about ten minutes after he'd arrived. Ashley was the first to ask, “What the _fuck_ happened?” To add to the awkward, though, this was one of the rare meetings that Ryan actually came to, so Brendon was quietly seething next to you. You still don't know what happened. You don't know if you'll ever know. The two of them were buddy-buddy for a few weeks, then suddenly Brendon hated him. You're confused. Life doesn't make sense. What is the _truth?_

Brendon explains the situation, with prior permission from Patrick to do so. Ashley strides across the room, and gives Patrick a hug. “Dude, I'm sorry about that. Pete's an asshole.”

Patrick looks dejected, but he shrugs and looks at his phone for a while. You look at yours as well, and try to ignore Brendon, who is obnoxiously leaning on you and reading over your shoulder. Josh texts you, and you pray it isn't something embarrassing or risque because you _know_ Brendon will flip you shit. It's integrated into his soul. There's absolutely no doubt whatsoever.

 

 **Josh:** what do u wanna do later because we got a lot of extra time

 

“Say fuck.”

“No.”

 

 **Tyler:** movies? or we could bake something like that one time.

 

“Ask Josh if I can come too.”

“You do realize I'm probably going to _do the do_ with him at some point, right?”

“You don't _always_ have to do that. My mom has been extra preachy lately.”

“I _guess.”_ You sigh dramatically, and ask Josh.

 

 **Tyler:** as u can see brendon is reading over my shoulder and wants to come over too.

 **Josh:** im down with that

 **Josh:** he's gonna have to help with whatever we decide to bake, tho

 **Josh:** I want brownies but I also want cake u feel

 **Tyler:** why not both

 **Josh:** DUDE. CHOCOLATE CAKE.

 **Tyler:** yes.

 

Brendon looks at you, and says, “Dude, we should go to Costco. They have this one chocolate cake that will make you sick if you eat too much, but, it's so good.”

“Costco probably isn't open, dude.”

“Do I look like I give a shit?”

“No, but gas prices are expensive, and Josh doesn't have a Costco membership.”

“Tell him to get one.”

“No.”

 

 **Josh:** im not getting a costco membership

 **Tyler:** Well you're a wimp dude u gotta take life by the HORNS and GO TO COSTCO

 

Brendon has taken your phone, and your life falls apart. Josh is looking at you from across the room, and grinning a little bit. You send him a look, asking him for help, but he doesn't do anything. Instead, he eggs Brendon on, and you write him off as dead.

 

Back at Josh's apartment, he steps out for a bit to go get the supplies to make a chocolate cake, and you end up having a deep and serious conversation with Brendon, which hasn't happened in a good while. It starts off with Brendon saying, “You know, I've never seen someone love someone as much as Josh loves you. Like, I'm not even fucking around here. That dude is _smitten.”_

“You think I don't know? He tells me every day. It feels surreal having someone actually, genuinely care about me as much as he does. Like, I'm sure you do, but it's different with him, you know?”

“Dude, I totally get you. Call me overprotective, but he's like, good to you and all, right?”

“Being protective is fine, dude. He is though. If he wasn't a good person, I would know by now. I started dating him in, what, November? And it's almost March now, so it's been almost five months. Okay, dude, how long have you been bumping uglies with Dallon? Like, when and how did that start?”

Brendon shrugs sheepishly, but answers. “Probably December or November. I went out one night to go to one of those gay clubs that don't card you, and he was there for whatever reason. I was actually kind of amused that he was the infamous 'Guy That Lives Below Josh.' Man, it's weird. Like, at first it was just sex and all, but it's gotten a little more serious lately and it's like… I _like_ him. My parents are going to have a fucking coronary, though, because he's almost, wait, he _is_ twice my age, not to mention a _dude.”_

“Oh? ' _Serious?_ _'_ _”_ You lean forward, and balance your chin on your hands. “Do tell.”

Brendon rolls his eyes. “I dunno. It quit being just about the sex at some point. Like, we actually go on dates sometimes, and I also hang out with him pretty frequently. It's so _weird._ Like, is he my boyfriend? Friends with benefits? Fuck buddies?”

You grin a little bit. “You should ask him.”

“Okay, I _would,_ but I haven't been able to gauge his feelings and whatnot. Also he has _kids,_ and I don't want to risk ruining his relationship with them or his ex-wife or whatever.”

“Dude, it's up to him if he wants to risk that, not you.”

“Okay, given that, how would I even _ask_ him? Like, do I just do what Patrick does whenever I give him rides, and just ask, 'What are we?' Or do I do something super grand?”

“Just ask him what you are to him or whatever. I mean, I didn't do that with Josh, but if I was in your situation, that's probably what I'd ask.”

Brendon perks up a little bit. “Dude, speaking of, you never told me how the two of you got together in the first place. I want _every_ detail. Every. Single. One.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, we left homecoming, and came back here. We all know this, but you know how Josh is a sappy, cheesy, hopeless romantic?”

“The whole world does.”

You roll your eyes. Again. “Okay, well, he started playing slow songs, and we slow danced. It was _so_ corny. Like, straight up _cob._ And I start crying, because we're all well aware that I cry a lot, and he was freaking out, but I was _happy_ crying. Like, it was weird because I remember I kissed him then kinda realized that I'm pretty sure I'm in love with him, and we kissed and shit and that led to me crying. _Then_ he gives me this sappy little rant about his feelings, then asks if we could be boyfriends. It was _so_ gay.”

“Dude, that's so fucking adorable.”

You brush him off, trying not to blush, because _come on,_ you're eighteen for fuck's sake. You can't be caught blushing like some middle schooler.

 

Josh comes back shortly after that, with chocolate cake mix, and a few other ingredients. Brendon pretty much starts salivating on sight. Josh ends up kicking Brendon out of the kitchen after realizing the poor kid didn't have a clue on how to make a simple cake. Brendon just shrugged, and said, “Less work for me, then.”

(He does come back to ask Josh if he'll make pot brownies, and Josh just gives him a dead-eyed look, and sighs without even answering him. Brendon looks a little dejected, but amused at the same time.) (Brendon, unsurprisingly, ends up going down a floor to stay with Dallon, since he apparently hadn't had the chance to see the man in a few weeks, and that he would take what he could get.)

 

On Monday, when you're in study hall, not studying, you get a text from Pete.

 

 **Pete:** okay look I know im not your favorite person right now but brendon wont reply to me and I ahvent spoken to patrick but I need someone who can sing

 **Tyler:** why

 **Pete:** im in a band and our vocalist is awol and I know you can sing like dont tell me you cant because ive heard you

 **Tyler:** why should I

 **Pete:** because even though I fucked up royally i'd like to think we're still friends and that you're willing to help me out because im in a pinch

 **Tyler:** I dont perform

 **Pete:** ill pay you

 **Pete:** I dont know how much but I will pay you please do this for me

 

You open Kik to ask for feedback.

 

 ****_**memeler has added fuckboy and dongers to a group conversation** _

****_**memeler has renamed the conversation “give tyler advice 2k13”** _

 

 **** **memeler:** pete wants me to sing for the band hes in and he said he'd pay me but idk if I should do it

 **memeler:** brendon, josh, if u would be so inclined as to give me feedback i'd appreciate it

 **fuckboy:** well, as ur boyfriend, I encourage u since it sounds like it has the potential to be fun

 **fuckboy:** as a defender of patrick, though, I forbid u from communicating with pete

 **dongers:** dude do it pete pays good if he needs someone to help

 **dongers:** I would but I cant look at him without wanting to kill him lol

 **memeler:** how good

 **dongers:** he's given me 200 dollars for helping before so idk

 **dongers:** normally between 50-100 tho

 **fuckboy:** jesus christ he's like 18 how does he have that kind of money

 **dongers:** he's out playing shows almost every night, dude

 **dongers:** the only times he doesnt go out to do that are on fridays or if he needs a break

 **dongers:** he busts his ass

 

 **Tyler:** fine

 **Tyler:** talk to me after school I guess ill be waiting outside of the art building

 **Pete:** thank you

 

Pete's waiting for you when school lets out, and he looks a little sick, if you're honest. “Uh, hey, Tyler.”

“Hey.”

“The thing starts around seven, and uh, mostly we're just doing a few covers, so it shouldn't be that hard to pick things up. If you're up for it, that is.”

“Might as well. Either I do this, or I go home and have an uncomfortable dinner with my parents, so, I mean...” You shrug awkwardly.

“Thank you so much, dude.” Pete looks relieved as he pulls you into a hug. You just pat his back, and let him lead the way to his shitty van.

 

Around six, you're helping Pete, and the two other dudes in his band, set up their equipment.

One of the guys in his band is named Andy. He's in his mid twenties, and you like him almost immediately since, similar to everyone else you're friends with, he has a zero tolerance policy for Pete's bullshit. Added, he's nice, so obviously that's a plus. The other guy is named Frank, and you're under the impression that he isn't the regular guitarist, but you don't bother to ask, since you feel like it really isn't any of your business. (He smokes weed and you're pretty sure he falls asleep standing up at some point.)

The show itself goes good, and you make seventy bucks. You know most of the songs you're supposed to cover, and you improvise on the ones you don't know. Your voice is pretty much gone by the time the thing is over, but it was _fun,_ surprisingly. After the show, you're standing outside, leaning against Pete's car, calling Josh. It's around midnight, so you're praying he isn't in bed yet. _“Fuck… hello?”_

“Uh, hey. It's me.”

_“You alright?”_

“Yeah. You in bed?”

_“Yeah. I have to be at work at five, dude.”_

“I know, I know. Uh, look, Brendon isn't answering me right now, and Pete _apparently_ didn't get permission to have a friend over, and my parents will have a _fit_ if I come home right now, so, can I like, you know—come over?”

_“You have a key, right?”_

“No, but I know where you keep your spare.”

 _“I'm driving you to Brendon's in the morning,_ _I'm assuming._ _”_

“If you would.”

_“Alright. Uh, there's leftover take out in the fridge if you need to eat.”_

You shuffle your feet a bit before asking, “Can I sleep in your bed?”

 _“Well, yeah, obviously._ _I'd be a little offended if you didn't._ _”_

 

When you get to Josh's apartment, you head to his room first. You nudge him awake. “Dude.”

He jerks awake. “ _Fuck._ Hey.” He tries playing it off cool.

“I'm gonna eat your take out, then I'm gonna shower.”

He nods, and before you can walk out, he grabs your hand. “Can I have a kiss?”

“You're gay.”

“Shut up and kiss me, nerd.”

 

The date for prom is announced the week after Valentine's Day. You have about a month to prepare for it, and you're really not expecting that you'll actually be prepared. You talk it over with Josh on the phone the afternoon it's announced, and obviously, he agrees to go as your date, but the two of you end up in a discussion over whether or not you should come out that night by telling your parents that Josh is your date.

For one thing, your parents would know, and you would at least be able to get out of the house for a good while before having to come home, but, there's a chance you could be kicked out before graduating, and both you and Josh agree that probably isn't the best, but god _damn_ it, you really want to be able to have your parents take pictures of you and Josh, and you want them to be satisfied with having their eldest child being in a relationship, and you want them to _gush._

You know Brendon will probably have his fucking Polaroid camera up everyone's asses, so on pictures, you're good, but you want the novelty of your parents taking the pictures themselves. As fate would have it, well, more like fate _wouldn't_ have it, you probably won't get the novelty, and you know it's the realistic outcome, but it doesn't make it any less disappointing.

Two weeks after the dates are announced, your parents take you shopping for a tuxedo, and Josh tags along just so he can give you 'feedback.' (By feedback, you mean he's going to give you a _look_ the whole time you're there, and you're going to blush like a middle schooler, and give him dirty looks in response.) Your parents figure it would be wise to let him tag along, since he was 'hip' and knew what was 'in style.' (You liked to tease Josh about being a 'grandpa,' but your parents had a point. Your parents also think he's eighteen, though.)

You're standing in one of the dressing rooms, checking yourself out, and seeing if the suit you're wearing was a good fit, when Josh slips in. “Told your parents I'm giving you… feedback. More feedback.”

“Seriously?” You give him a blank look.

“Yes. Seriously. Anyways, we need to match, dude. That's the number one rule of prom: You have to match your date, especially if your date is wearing a suit as well.”

“Does this match the suit you have?” You pull at the lapel a bit, and look at Josh as you do.

“It's a different shade of black, and your shirt is a tacky choice. Don't wear stripes. Ever.”

You roll your eyes out of your head and into outer space. _“Fine._ What kind of shirt should I wear?”

“Something plain, obviously. You have black dress shirts, right?”

He knows the answer, but you indulge him. “Yes, Josh, I do.”

He goes on a rant about shirts, and clashing colors/patterns. You're patient, you are, but it doesn't you too long to lean over and give his gay ass a kiss to shut him up. His shocked little grin makes you smile pretty freakin' wide. He pulls you back for another kiss, and things escalate just a tiny bit, and your heart pretty much explodes with the sudden rush of fear when you hear your mother saying your name, and asking what's taking you so long. You hurry up and finish buttoning the shirt hanging off of your shoulders, before opening the door, and praying you don't look as if you'd just kind of barely made out with your boyfriend in a fucking dressing room.

Josh steps out behind you, and after your mother says that you look good, Josh gives her a bored look. “He looks tacky. You don't wear stripes with a suit, especially to prom. It should be illegal.”

Your mother just laugh's at Josh's blunt response, and you sigh, quietly. _Josh, please tone down on the gay. I don't know if we have some sort of psychic connection, but we don't need my mother catching us pretty much eye-fucking right here and now. Tone. It. Down._

Once you've acquired something that passes Josh's little test, your parents take the two of you back to your own home, and you pretty much run to your bedroom, with Josh following closely behind you. As soon as your door is closed, you're pushing the older boy against it, and kissing him a little roughly. He returns the gesture, and you let out the slightest little noise as you feel his hands trail down your back before landing on your ass.

You have your hands on his belt buckle when you hear your mother hollering for you, and you just about scream in frustration. _Three weeks._ You haven't been able to barely even _touch_ Josh in _three_ _weeks._ It doesn't sound like that long, but, when you're young, and horny, it feels like an eternity. Josh looks just about as frustrated as you feel, and you sigh before giving him the lightest of kisses on the lips before going downstairs to see what your mother wanted.

As it turns out, she just wanted to know what the two of you wanted for dinner, and by the time you're back up to your room, the mood is ruined and you curse god for your inevitable blue-balls.

 

The next group isn't as awkward. Pete doesn't show up, and neither does Ryan. Though, Ashley isn't there, and you're a little bummed out since you were hoping to be able to have a chat with her since you didn't really get the chance to do so much anymore.

Brendon was obviously there. You don't know when it happened, but Brendon is kind of like the third wheel when it comes to you and Josh. He's mostly around, though, so he can see Dallon on a regular basis. It's a little weird, but also cute and endearing in a way.

Patrick and Joe show up again, and they sit off in their own little world talking about something or other. Brendon texts you the whole time, and you feel bad, but you kind of ignore Josh in favor of talking to the other teenager.

 

 **Tyler:** u gonna take dallon to prom ;)

 **Brendon:** probably idk depends on if I can talk him into it

 **Brendon:** youre going with josh right

 **Tyler:** no im going with his twin brother hsoj :/

 **Brendon:** oh fuck off you smart ass

 **Tyler:** of course im going with josh its not like hes the love of my life or anything

 **Brendon:** ew dont make me gag

 **Tyler:** shut up

 **Tyler:** bruh he went with me when my parents took me shopping for a suit and oh my god he kept going on about how my choice in dress shirts was so tacky

 **Tyler:** it was the gayest thing i'd seen in so long

 **Brendon:** idk man ur pretty gay and I assume u looked in a lot of mirrors that day

 **Tyler:** eat shit

 **Brendon:** sorry not into scat lol

 **Tyler:** oh my god fuck off we need a back up plan in case prom doesnt pan out

 **Brendon:** what do you mean

 

You roll your eyes a bit before opening the group conversation, which is currently named _skeleton squad,_ on Kik.

 

 **skeleton boy:** josh

 **spooky:** oh good lord the last time you messaged the group brendon was asking about lube

 **skeleton boy:** its about prom u weirdo

 **spooky:** oh

 **lanky bones:** tyler says we need a back up plan in case prom doesn't pan out

 **spooky:** seems reasonable

 **skeleton boy:** I literally got beat up for being gay idk how the school is gonna react if a whole squad of gays show up to prom especially when most of them dont even go to the school

 **lanky bones:** well josh is pretty beefy he could fight everyone if we need him to

 **spooky:** im delicate and I bruise easily im not fighting anyone

 **skeleton boy:** hes not beefy he is actually very weak

 **spooky:** tyler do u know how much I bench I could probably snap u like a twig

 **lanky bones:** shut up nerdlords we need a PLAN

 **spooky:** idk if people are being shitty we could just go to someones house and hang out

 **spooky:** I mean id probably end up taking tyler home with me like thats a given

 **spooky:** youd probably tag along because dallon exists, or you'd go home with him in the first place

 **spooky:** and everyone else could probably take care of themselves im assuming

 **skeleton boy:** what are we gonna do about pete though

 **skeleton boy:** hes an asshole and all but he's still our friend and we cant exclude him from this

 **lanky bones:** we arent excluding him but its gonna be so fuckin awkward with him and patrick

 **skeleton boy:** I want them to get back together but idk if thats possibly

 **lanky bones:** lol dont count on it patrick literally despises pete right now and petes super fucking butthurt like they arent going anywhere near each other

, **spooky:** just because they arent dating doesnt mean they cant be friends

 **spooky:** I mean if I wasnt dating tyler we'd probably be best friends

 **lanky bones:** okay but you didnt cheat on tyler and the two of you arent magnets for drama

 **skeleton boy:** josh id probably end up kissing you anyways though because youre cute and like super good at kissing :///

 **spooky:** ditto

 **lanky bones:** tyler josh ew shut up im going to VOMIT

 **skeleton boy:** ur fault for being the third wheel dickbag

 **lanky bones:** literally fuck yourself

 **skeleton boy:** why would I do that when I have a boyfriend lol

 **lanky bones:** FUCK OFF oh my god

 **spooky:** jesus christ tyler

 **lanky bones:** oh my goddd anywyas look ill try to corner the two of them and make them sort their shit out? maybe this weekend or something

 **skeleton boy:** that actually sounds good not gonna lie just make sure patrick doesnt kill pete lol

 

When prom rolls around, you end up outing yourself. What pisses you off, though, is that your parents _don't get it._

“Tyler, we want to take pictures of you and your date. Can't you stay home until she gets here?”

Josh is standing next to you, eyebrows raising slightly, and with shaky hands, you take one of his in yours, and say, “Well, he's here, so take all the pictures you want.”

Your mother just _laughs,_ and makes a remark about how it's funny that the two of you are so _close,_ and how she finds it endearing that the two of you are going as _friends._ While she's distracted with something else, Josh mouths, “Oh my god,” at you, and you just shrug violently. (You don't let go of his hand.)

You and Josh pull some overly platonic poses for your mother's pictures before pretty much running at the speed of light out of the house and to Josh's car so the two of you could head to Brendon's house to, you know, pick him up. (Dallon was in the car, looking awkward and out of place, and the ride to Brendon's was a bit awkward as well.)

Patrick and Pete had made up as much as they were able to at that point, and they were able to talk without Patrick trying to maim Pete every five minutes, which was something, honestly. Joe had been tagging along a lot lately, and it surprises you, but he gets along with Pete pretty well. You could tell Patrick wasn't overly comfortable with the fact that Joe and Pete got along, but you figured that them getting along was better than them, _y'know,_ not getting along.

 

Prom went better than homecoming. People were still rude, but since there were seven of you, no one had the audacity to do anything drastic. You had a good time; you slow danced with Josh, got about fifteen Polaroids from Brendon, and as stated, you just had a _good_ time. It wasn't overly amazing or anything, but it was something.

Brendon and Dallon were _so_ awkward, and it made you laugh. You watched the two of them fumble around, trying to find some sort of rhythm, and you laughed at how easily flustered either of them got. Patrick, Joe, and Pete ended up on the bleachers in the gym, talking about something, since neither of the three of them had dates, and didn't see a point in being on the floor other than to cop some punch once in a while.

 

After Josh had dropped Dallon and Brendon off at the apartment complex, he takes you to a Taco Bell, mostly as a joke, so that the two of you could have a small meal before going home for the night. The Taco Bell brings back some fond memories of the first time Josh had taken you there. It was awkward, and you'd been scared at the time. You remember how lost you'd gotten in that first conversation, and how _at peace_ you'd felt talking to him. He still makes you feel like that.

When he gets back into his car after throwing the papers and wrappers from the meal away, you lean over, kiss him gently, and state, “I love you. A lot.”

He looks a little shocked. Or, well, flustered, actually, but he kisses you back. “I love you too, dude.”

You giggle, and feel a smile spread across your face as you tell him that, “This is so gay.”

He nudges your leg, and rolls his eyes, before you stick your tongue out at him.

 

Back at his apartment, it doesn't take you long to be between his legs on the floor in front of the couch, unbuckling his belt, and looking up to give him a devious look. You see that he's about half hard by the time you get his underwear down around his ankles. You take his dick in your hand, and jerk it slowly, getting a sense of satisfaction from the small and minute noises he's letting out once in a while.

Before going to town, you let out a cynical little chuckle. “I wonder what my parents would do if they knew that we aren't, in fact, friends, and that I'm actually about to give you head.”

Josh snorts, and moves one of his legs to get you in the side. “I'd prefer not to think about your parents while getting sucked off.”

You don't really get why people say dicks taste good. To be frank, dicks _don't_ taste good. You guess it might be an acquired taste, but you haven't acquired it yet, apparently. You enjoy being able to please Josh rather than savor the taste. You think _that's_ more rewarding. It's probably supposed to be.

You've heard girls talking about how they just _love_ the taste of dicks, and as stated before, you do _not_ get it. Maybe their boyfriends have dicks that taste like tootsie pops or something. You've asked Josh about it, and he's just said, “They aren't supposed to taste good. Similar to eating ass, you don't suck a dick for the taste, unless you're into that for some weird reason.” (You'd laughed at the bluntness of his answer, and he'd rolled his eyes before pecking you on the lips.)

You watch Josh for the warning signs of his impending orgasm, and you cut the blow job off right before he can get a chance. He groans, _loudly,_ at you, and takes a minute to gather himself. You lean back against the coffee table, panting in a fashion similar to that of a dog, staring at Josh and just admiring how hot he looks.

Every inch of your body is on fire, and you're trying to keep your cool around Josh by not ripping your pants off right then and there. You knew they would come off eventually, but you didn't want to seem _that_ into it. You thought being too eager was a tad bit embarrassing, even though you knew Josh genuinely didn't give an actual shit.

“Okay, no homo, but-”

“You had my dick in your mouth not more than two minutes ago.”

“Shut up, dude. I wanted to tell you that you're gorgeous but I take it back. No compliments for you.”

“Hush, pretty-boy.”

You hit him in the calf. “I'm not pretty.”

“What, are you my _big, strong_ grizzly bear?”

“Yes. I'm a bear.”

He rolls his eyes and snorts pretty loudly. “Shut up, you fuckin' twink.”

 

The next morning, you grab your things and head down to Dallon's apartment. Josh had to leave early to go to a doctor's appointment, so Dallon was going to drive you and Brendon home. Brendon answers the door, and gives you a shit-eating look. “Dude, you're loud.”

Your face goes red and you whack him in the chest. “Stop.”

“Dallon just needs to get his keys, but we're pretty much ready to go.”

You peer into the apartment before leaning towards Brendon. “Did you ask him?”

“Yeah, I'll explain later.”

You nod.

 

Once you're at home, and you have your things back up to your room and after you're done explaining the hickeys to your parents, you call Brendon's phone, and ask him for the details on Dallon. _“Well, he said he'd never really been with a guy before, and that it was new and he'd need a little time. He also said that's why he got a divorce with his wife; he realized he had a thirst for the dick. I just so happened to be the little home wrecker.”_

“Wasn't he divorced before you met him?”

 _“_ _Let me pretend to be a slut, dude.”_

“Will do.”

 _“_ _I want to introduce him to my parents, but I also want to wait a few more years or at least until I'm eighteen, you know? Statistics say we probably won't last, but it feels so_ real, _you know?”_ You can hear him sighing wistfully on the other end of the line, and you try your hardest not to outwardly call him a nerd.

“Yes, Brendon, _I know._ You don't have to ask me five hundred times. Honestly, I'd wait at least a few more months before introducing him to your parents. They're going to have a _cow_ when you tell them you're dating someone twice your age.”

 _“_ _I want to, trust me, but it's literally getting so difficult to hide this from them. How do you do it? How do you hide your relationship with Josh from_ your _parents?”_

“Very intricate lies and half assed excuses. Also, they think he's eighteen and in our history class, and that we're just best friends, so that makes it a little easier. I'm still waiting for them to pick up the hints I've been dropping. Yesterday, I literally grabbed his hand and told them that he was my date, and they thought I was _kidding._ ”

 _“Seriously? They're_ that _clueless? My parents would've known in an instant if you were their kid.”_

“Your parents aren't super bigoted and violently homophobic, though.”

“Very true. Do you think you're ever going to tell them?”

“Yeah. I mean, I really need to. It's pretty hard hiding Josh from them, especially since he's such a huge part of my life, you know? And it's so disheartening having to talk about _girls_ with my dad and my brothers. I'm pretty sure my siblings know, but my parents are so clueless. I'm actually afraid to tell them.”

_“You're probably going to have to pull a, 'Hey, pass the peas, I'm gay,' or something similar.”_

“Oh, god, no thanks. That would be _so_ awkward. I'll probably slip up or something and that's how they'll find out. Either that or they're eavesdropping right now. _That_ wouldn't surprise me. I dunno, I've talked to Josh about it, and we both agreed that we should plan it out in more detail or something before actually telling them. I think we're probably going to have to sit down and have a 'chat' with them about me being gay, and the two of us being in a relationship. Also probably about the fact that he's twenty, and not eighteen.”

 _“_ _Yeah. I told mine that I'm bisexual, and they're totally fine with it, which shocked the hell out of me. I had to tell them after I outed myself at school, though. It would've sounded better coming from me rather than the principal or a teacher, you know?”_

“I get that. If I wasn't so scared about getting kicked out, then, again, I'd definitely tell mine. Josh said he got kicked out a few months before he graduated, and that it'd been hell for him, so I kind of want to avoid going through that.”

“Hey, Pete's downstairs apparently, so I'm going to hang up on ya, alright?”

“Have fun, dude.”

 _“_ _Will do.” Click._

 

Similar to homecoming, the Monday after prom is hell. The hazing gets worse, and you avoid being alone, similar to how you did before. You text Josh throughout the day, giving him a live feed of how your day is going, and he isn't able to reply right away, but when he does, it kind of makes your heart flutter. He's too good for you. He has a knack for sending you heartfelt texts.

 

During study hall, you text Brendon, just as you normally do. Josh usually doesn't respond when you're in study hall, mostly since it's apparently a busy time. He's a receptionist; how busy can he be? You and Brendon make a few plans for the weekend. They aren't interesting, really, but hanging out was fun either way.

 

 **Brendon:** im driving pete to cincinnati because he has a gig but no ride apparently

 **Tyler:** doesnt he have a new car

 **Brendon:** yeah but his parents are strict with this one for obvious reasons

 **Tyler:** makes sense

 **Brendon:** you wanna come with us

 **Brendon:** probably going to be the same as all the other shows youve been to but hey better than being at home right

 **Tyler:** sure dude

 **Tyler:** when are you leaving

 **Brendon:** friday afternoon :( I know thats your day with josh but I wont be able to pick you up after that

 **Tyler:** eh I kind of need to get out of town lol

 **Tyler:** the last time I was out of town was a month ago and josh was giving me a blowjob so I mean

 **Brendon:** oh no… u got a blow job… how tragic………..

 **Tyler:** shut up omg

 **Tyler:** ill like….

 **Tyler:** tell josh

 **Tyler:** yeah

 **Tyler:** when do we come back

 **Brendon:** sunday evening probably

 **Brendon:** im probably gonna go over to dallons when we get back

 **Brendon:** u wanna come with so u can see josh

 **Tyler:** yes please

 

The next day, which is Thursday, you get a frantic group message from Pete on Kik.

 

 **Brendon:** petes making a huge group chat watch out

 

 _**wentz added** _ _**stringbean, spooky daddy, bread, patback, and** _ _**judaism** _ _**to the conversation.** _

_**wentz has changed the topic to “I NEED A FUCKING DRUMMER.”** _

 

 **** **judaism** **:** dude I play guitar dont look at me

 **patback:** im going with andy to milwaukee so ur on ur own

 **bread:** josh

 **stringbean:** josh

 **spooky daddy:** i havent performed in five years so no

 **wentz:** josh please I will literally suck your dick if you do this

 **spooky daddy:** as much as I love eighteen year olds one is enough for me

 **stringbean:** the josh d is mine back off pete >:(

 **bread:** you guys are fucking disgusting I am Gagging

 **patback:** he'll probably do it josh watch out

 **bread:** oh fuck

 **stringbean:** shit

 **spooky daddy:** no comment omg

 **judaism:** tone down on the salt there patrick

 **wentz:** I cant even defend myself on that one tbh

 **judaism:** for those of u who dont go to our school patrick just started shaking and called himself a salt shaker

 **patback:** fuck off joe

 **spooky daddy:** who all is gonna be there

 **stringbean:** me

 **bread:** me

 **wentz:** me

 **judaism:** me

 **spooky daddy:** when is the thing

 **wentz:** saturday night

 **bread:** wait wait wait if patrick isnt going who the fuck is singing

 **wentz:** …. tyler

 **stringbean:** thanks for asking me, pete :)

 **wentz:** ur welcome <3

 

The ride to Cincinnati on Friday is uncomfortable to say the least. You, Josh, and Pete are crammed into the back seat, while Brendon and Joe are in the front. It's not really that uncomfortable, but Pete's obnoxious, you're tired from school, Josh is tired from work, and usually on Friday afternoons, you're at Josh's apartment taking a nap, and not in a shitty Volkswagen for an hour and a half on the way to another city.

Pete has a friend that, for whatever reason, is willing to let four teenagers plus Josh stay with him until Sunday. He's probably about the same height as Dallon, but definitely not as old, and he acts like a mixture of Brendon and Pete. He goes in between speaking in Spanish and English, and considering no one else in your friend group knows Spanish, it throws you all for a loop.

You think he's probably twenty-five, and for another one of those 'whatever' reasons, he acts like a _dad._ He doesn't even have kids, but he strikes you as a dad. He's more of a dad than Dallon is, and the dude is thirty four and actually _has_ kids. Gabe Saporta is a fucking enigma.

 

Saturday night is a little weird. Well, it's not weird, but you get to see a new, improved, and more anxious side of Josh.

“I haven't done anything in front of such a big crowd in so long.” He's shifting, and has his arms crossed. He looks like he's on the verge of tears, and you pull him into a hug.

“Dude, you're gonna be fine. I'll be like, three or four feet away, and you also have Pete and Joe on stage, then Brendon's probably going to be nearby too. You don't have to talk or anything, either.” It's kind of weird, since you're used to him being the one trying to comfort you, or calm you down, but hey, he's your boyfriend, and you'll do what you can to make sure he's alright.

The performance itself is almost spiritual. Josh does a spectacular job, Pete gets the crowd going, and chats a few people up, Joe gives the shitty phone cameras award winning grins, Brendon follows in Pete's footsteps in which he chats a few people up, and you all but lose your voice singing.

It's fucking weird, but there's about ten people who want pictures with the five of you, and five more that want pictures with just you and Josh. One of the kids who got a picture with you and Josh had said, and you quote, “I have a feeling about the two of you. I don't know what it is, but the two of you have something special. Anyways, get over here and take a fuckin' selfie with me, man.”

 

You end up sitting outside with Josh at two in the morning while he has one of his bi-monthly smoke breaks. “I don't know why I was nervous. That was fucking _fun.”_

“I mean, you were in front of probably fifty people, so it's reasonable. Not like I was totally cool, calm, and collected either.”

Josh nods, and exhales smoke through his nose. “Kind of makes me wish I was in a band again. I don't like being in front of crowds, but it was fun, y'know? I mean, the guys I was in a band with were dicks, but the experience itself was awesome.”

“Wanna start a band?” You're joking, but you're also a little serious.

He snorts. “What? You and me?”

“Hell yeah, dude.”

“It'll be hard, since there's just two of us.”

“We'll make it work. We'll be a two-man band. You can lay down some sick beats and I can sing some sick tunes on top of them.” You lean over to nudge him with your shoulder, but you don't lean away afterward.

“You're like, really good at singing, by the way.”

“Brendon and Patrick are better.”

“They sound so different from you, though. You shouldn't compare yourself.” Nudge.

“I'm nasally.”

“Who gives a shit? You're cute.”

“You can probably sing better than I can.”

“No, I can't. I can play drums. That's it. That's my talent. I can't sing. I literally can't do anything with my mouth.”

“You're good at giving head, so I wouldn't say that, Josh.”

“Oh, shut the hell up; that's not what I meant.”

You giggle at him, and after a few minutes of comfortable silence, you ask, “Why do you even smoke?”

He shrugs the shoulder you're not leaning on. “Out of habit, maybe. I had a four month period after I turned eighteen where all I did was smoke. It was dumb. I couldn't breathe for shit, so I quit. I'll probably get cancer, but I look cool, so it's whatever. If I catch _you_ smoking, though, I'll beat your ass.”

“Is that what it's going to take for you to spank me?”

“Tyler, I swear to fucking god—”

 _“Will the two of you go to fucking bed and quit talking about your sex life?”_ Enter Brendon, stage left, cutting Josh off, and looking particularly annoyed.

 

Sunday evening isn't anything particularly special. You hang out with Josh, then fall asleep around midnight. He takes you and Brendon over to Brendon's house on his way to work on Monday, and then you go to school.

 _Monday_ is weird. At lunch, Josh drops in with lunch for you, him, Brendon, and Pete, and _everyone_ stares. You're used to the occasional _look_ whenever Josh actually eats in the cafeteria with the three of you, but you're not used to _everyone_ staring.

“...Why is everyone staring?” You ask as you slowly take a bite of pizza and look around at a few people.

“If I knew, I'd say something,” Pete grumbles under his breath, a frown settling on his face.

“If I wanted to be stared at, I'd pull a Brendon and go streaking,” Josh is muttering this next.

Brendon kicks your leg under the table. “You _told_ him about that?”

“Brendon, I told everyone.”

“Fuck you, Tyler.”

Five more minutes pass, then Pete shouts, “Why the _fuck_ is everyone staring?” He gets a stern look from a teacher, but doesn't get in trouble for the swear.

Mikey trots over with his phone out before plopping down next to Pete. “Here. Look at this video.”

Pete puts an ear bud in, and you watch as shock settles over his face. “Holy fucking shit.” He yanks Mikey's phone out of his hand, then gives it to Brendon. “Dude, watch this.”

Brendon has about the same reaction as he hands the phone to you and Josh. On the screen is a YouTube video, and you don't get what the big deal is until Josh presses play and you hear your voice playing through the tinny ear buds. Josh turns the phone vertical, and you about have a fucking _heart attack_ at the view count.

It's at 124,412. One hundred twenty four thousand four hundred and twelve people have viewed you singing. “Oh good fucking lord.” You watch the video all the way through, and you actually do have a heart attack at what had been captured, _up close,_ at the end of the video: you, in all of your sweaty glory, leaning over Josh's drum kit to kiss him on the lips. _Fuck._

 

You thank the lord when you get home that afternoon that your parents hadn't seen the video. Zack, on the other hand, _has_ seen the video, and he corners you in your room. “Are you gay?”

You squint. “...No?”

“Cut the shit, Tyler. There's a video of you kissing some guy who plays the drums.” He's holding his phone out to you.

“I've already seen it.”

“ _Are you gay?”_

Your phone vibrates. _Thank god for Josh._ ”Gimme a sec.”

 

 **Josh:** dude I tripped and hit myself in the nuts and im rock fucking solid right now

 **Josh:** my dick hurt for like two s econds and now I have a wicked boner

 **Tyler:** why do you always tell me about your dick stories when i'm in a place that it isn't appropriate to be discussing random hard-ons with my boyfriend

 **Josh:** maybe I have dick radar

 **Josh:** dickdar

 **Tyler:** jesus christ

 

“Tyler, quit dicking around. Are you gay?”

“What do you think?” You ask, slowly.

“You _know_ what I think. I want to hear it from you before mom or dad, or god forbid, _both_ of them find out.”

“Yeah.”

He straightens his posture a bit. Heh. “I won't tell mom and dad. I don't _agree_ with _it,_ but I won't tattle.”

“You smoke weed more than I breath. If you took me down for being gay, I'd take you down for being a stoner.” He flinches at your deadpan.

“Fair enough. Madison knows, by the way.”

“Jesus; she knows everything. She's telepathic.”

Zack just nods, and leaves your room after that.

 

 **Tyler:** zack saw the video lol oops

 **Josh:** oh

 **Josh:** did he tell ur parents

 **Tyler:** no

 **Tyler:** we have an agreement that as long as he doesnt out me I wont tell them hes a stoner

 **Josh:** sounds fair enough

 

You turn your phone screen off for about two minutes and when it comes back on, you have a notification from the group chat on Kik with Josh, Brendon, Pete, and Patrick. One notification becomes two, then two becomes fifteen, and so on.

 

 **Jimjams:** [image attached]

 **peter:** …

 **BREAD KING:** wrong conversation?

 **Patrick:** Josh, for fucks sake.

 **jimjams:** FUCKFUCKFUCK MEANT FOR TYLER

 **peter:** THATS EVEN WORSE

 **BREAD KING:** LMAO

 **Patrick:** I mean, it's not… bad

 **peter:** definitely not

 **BREAD KING:** dude no offense but you're fucking hung

 **jimjams:** we arent having this conversatoin right now !!!!!!!!!!!

 **peter:** youre the one who sent a dick pic to the group chat

 **broseph:** PETE I FUCKING TOLD YOU HES HUNG QUIT ARGUING WITH ME

 **jimjams:** CAN YOU NOT TALK ABOUT MY DICK WITH YOUR FRIENDS

 **broseph:** no can do once you enter the bone zone of tyler joseph I get the right to talk about your dick with my friends

 **peter:** oh so once hes talking about YOUR dick suddenly we're HIS friends and not yours

 **peter:** I have known you for five years im like super offended right now :(

 

You're fucking giggling, and the giggles only increase tenfold when Josh frantically calls you _._

 

The week after the dick pic incident is spring break, and your parents decide to go on a vacation. You manage to talk them into letting Josh tag along, and Josh informs you that you're fucking lucky he was able to get that week off on such short notice, _and_ that it was a paid vacation. You think Brendon went somewhere with Dallon and Pete, and that Patrick or Joe, or both, might have tagged along with them.

You and Josh had done two more shows with Pete's band, and since you'd covered Pete's ass in February, you'd made approximately seven hundred dollars, and you planned to spend at least some of it on Josh. Josh had told you that you didn't have to spend your own money, but you'd blown him off, saying, “Let me buy you stuff, asshole.”

Your parents let the two of you share a hotel room, and, as expected, the two of you take the chance to _get it on._ (You also get a heavy questioning from Zack about Josh, and you're pretty sure Josh gets the 'If you hurt him, I will kill you' talk from Zack.)

 

On the second evening of the vacation, you and Josh split off from your parents and your siblings to go for a walk around the town, and then to go on a date. The seven of you were somewhere in upstate New York, and it was a little cold, so Josh uses it as an excuse to hold your hand and stick close. _I mean, he probably would've done it anyways, but he's a fuckin' nerd._

“Dude, when did you get taller than me?”

“Dunno. I'm still growing, dude. One day I'll be as tall as Dallon.”

“Yeah, you fucking wish. He still has six inches on you, easy. I wish it wasn't expensive to live in New York, because it's like, super pretty here.”

You nod in agreement. “Yeah. Winter is hell, though. I mean, it's not much better in Columbus, but it's still hell. I don't know where I want to go after high school. I've been dicking around with Pete's band, and that's fun, and I'd like to continue doing that, but if it doesn't work out, I really don't know what I'm going to do.”

“I kind of want to move to California. It's expensive as hell there too, though, and I don't know if I'd be able to get a job.”

“Well, if we actually go through with the 'starting a band' idea, we could live all over the country.”

“I don't think we'd be able to afford to do that. Well, at least not off the bat, anyways. I'm serious, though. I'll take you up on the offer whenever I have free time outside of work.”

“Just do what Pete does; take advantage of the weekends and evenings. I dunno. I'm going to keep saving my money then I'm probably going to move out as soon as I can.”

“Well, just in case, you know that, at the very least, you have a place to stay so long as I'm alive, right?”

“I'll probably take you up on that offer when I graduate. I'll have to come out, though, when I do. I don't know how that's going to go. I've ran through all of the possible scenarios, and I don't know which one I want to trust.”

“I hope your parents can get over their shit and make you the priority.”

“Sounds far fetched, but I have to agree.”

 

Josh takes you to some dinky looking diner. The food isn't the best, but it's still a date, and that's all that matters to you. You chat with Josh, he tries playing footsie, you kick his leg away with a dirty look, the two of you exchange sly smiles and vaguely suggestive looks, and honestly, it's how your dates usually go. That doesn't make it any less special, of course.

He holds your hand all the way back to the hotel, and only lets go of it long enough for the two of you to skirt past your parents and siblings before going back into the room.

 

In the hotel room, once the door is closed and either of you are sure it's locked, Josh hooks his index fingers through two of your belt loops, and pulls you close.

“Seriously? It's three.”

“Never too early for fucking around, am I right?” He gives you one of those smirks that he _knows_ makes you melt, and you spiritually groan, but you give in nonetheless.

You slide your jacket off, and kick your shoes off to some other part of the room before straddling Josh on one of the beds. The two of you are kissing, sweet and slow, and his hands are starting to wander. Josh is generally pretty gentle and caring, but he can get handsy and a little rough once in a while, which you do _not_ mind.

Your shirt comes off first, and Josh's follows soon after. He trails his hands up and down your sides, torso, back, and wherever else he can get them. You don't really know why, but it's one of those things that calms you down and makes you comfortable. Also it mildly turns you on. Either way, you don't mind it.

Something you do that makes Josh tic is tugging at his hair. He's fucking weird, and you're not really surprised that he has a thing for getting his hair pulled. You had figured it out on accident mid-December during a _slightly_ drunken blow job. You'd tugged on his hair, because you were _really close,_ and he'd let out this absolutely _vulgar_ noise, and you'd given him a shit eating look.

You think either of these are normal, but your nipples, and that spot behind your jaw and below your ear are two of your… 'sweet spots.' Your neck and collar bones are a few others, but the previous two are the ones that get you worked up the most. Though, the second two are probably a good part of the reason Josh covers you in hickeys every single chance he gets. (You still stick by your theory of him having an oral fixation, of course.)

Josh tends to be the more dominant one in the relationship, obviously, and most of the time you let him lead everything, but once in a while, you get a little antsy, and have some sort of pissing contest in asserting dominance with the older boy. This isn't one of those times, though.

He's on top of you now, between your legs, rolling his hips against yours, and you have no doubt in your mind that he's eating up every single little fucking noise you let out. You can be quiet, really, but when you're given the chance, you're probably one of the loudest people in the world when it comes to sex. When you started engaging in sexual relations with Josh, you'd been quiet, but little by little, he's broken down your resolve.

Josh tends to be quieter, and he opts for more breathy, low, drawn out moans. Once in a while, if he's particularly overwhelmed or _really_ into it, he gets a little loud, and for whatever reason, it's hot enough to you that if he were to make noises like that at any given moment, you'd probably come in your pants on the fucking spot. You don't know how, but you managed to bag a fucking _god_ for a boyfriend. He's pretty much perfect. (Obviously, he has faults, but, all in all, he's a good guy.)

You hear the sound of Josh's belt buckle coming undone, and the sound + feeling of yours follows pretty soon after. You take your hands from his head and move them to unzip your jeans before sliding them off of your legs. You end up taking Josh's off with just your feet, and he pokes a little fun at you until you pinch his ass.

When he has a hand around your dick, and his own pressing into your thigh, it's _his_ phone that rings. Normally it's yours, but this time? Yeah, this time, it's his. His head shoots up, and he swears. He scrambles over to the side of the bed to get his phone out of his pocket, and you whine. He looks at the caller ID, and says, “It's Brendon. He can wait twenty minutes.” He throws his phone to a different part of the room, and turns his attention back to you.

Eventually, he's inside you, and you're burning up, feeling like you're going to burst at the seams. He starts off slow, as usual, and then he picks up the pace. This time, the two of you have a time limit, so it's a little hasty. You do enjoy it better when the two of you don't have a time limit, but there's something exciting about how it feels vaguely forbidden.

You pull Josh's hair to bring him close enough for you to steal a kiss, and you're immensely satisfied with the strangled noise of pleasure he lets out. _He's fucking weird._ It takes a few more minutes, but he's gripping your hips like steel, his thrusts are getting jagged and they're losing their rhythm. You feel butterflies, or something more provocative, well up in your lower abdomen, your breathing is becoming erratic, and you're probably stroking yourself faster than you ever have before when Josh finally lets out one, final, grunt.

After you're done, and he's tied his condom off and tossed it into the waste bin, he lays down next to you, trying to catch his breath. (You're in about the same state as he is.) As usual, he throws an arm over your chest, and asks if you're alright, if it was good, and a slew of other things. You think if he was any other person, you'd get annoyed pretty fucking quick, but he's genuine, and it's just _sweet._ You answer him in kind, and you're sure he can hear your heart speed up in response to the smile that's on his face.

 

The rest of the vacation goes pretty good. Josh continues to charm the hell out of your parents, your siblings give the two of you suspicious looks as always, and you act like everything is totally normal.

The first night you're back in Columbus, Pete's already got a hold of both you and Josh, and the two of you find yourselves in some seedy part of Columbus, letting Pete convince you into performing. It's kind of special, for some reason. You're not sure _why,_ but it is. The crowd Pete's band attracts is actually pretty fuckin' big, and there's a group of familiar faces wanting pictures with you, Josh, Pete, Joe, _and_ Brendon again. It's so _weird._

You end up at Josh's apartment, which really isn't big news at this point. Pete and Brendon are there too, though, and the four of you end up passing out while spread across Josh's living room after watching a few movies.

 

Fast forward a month, and you're graduating. After you've gone across the stage, you run off, and with a quick thought of, “Fuck it,” you pretty much throw yourself at Josh and give him a kiss on the lips. You almost laugh at the shocked gasps of your parents and a few classmates.

Brendon, Pete, and another group of students are all whooping and cheering for you and Josh, and you actually let out a giggle at them. It's kind of a golden moment.

That evening is a little weird, but it isn't bad. Your parents ask both you and Josh a series of questions, but their reaction isn't as terrible as you thought it was going to be. You don't get kicked out, nor do you get disowned, and you don't get hit for anything either.

The week following graduation, you move into Josh's apartment. It doesn't feel new, honestly. It just feels like an extended version of all the nights and weekends you'd spent there over the past year. You get a shitty part-time job at a record store another week after moving in, and life is kind of just… good.

You're not sure when it actually happens, but you and Josh end up being in a two-man band together. The first 'tour' is basically the two of you dicking around most of Ohio from mid-June to August, covering classic rock songs, along with performing a few original songs, and gaining a small following. The band hasn't really been named yet, and although the two of you are the only 'official' members, Brendon, Pete, and Patrick pitch in pretty frequently, whether it be with backing vocals, or one of them taking on the role of guitarist or some other bullshit.

 

You're not living in constant fear of your parents, and although you're out, you've broken away from an unhealthy situation and mindset, you've renounced your religion and that isn't weighing down on your shoulders, and you're just… _happy._

Happy, and satisfied with everything at present time. You have plenty of troubles, hardships, heart aches, and a bunch of other bullshit in your future, or so you assume, but you're ready to take them on, and for the first time in your life, you _know_ you'll come out on top, even if it means you're spitting blood and burning alive. You'll do what it takes to live your life for _you,_ and no one else.

 

You don't belong to anyone but yourself, and you have no one to prove yourself or explain yourself to, so go out there and get 'em, kid.

 

**FINISH**


End file.
